


Dead Ringer

by Ryvyn



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Body Horror, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fantastic Racism, Flashbacks, Game Spoilers, Hemophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kinda, Minor Alphys/Undyne, Minor Character Death, Misgendering, Non-Binary Frisk, Non-Verbal Frisk, Non-binary Reader - Freeform, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader Is Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Scopophobia, Skippable Smut, Slow Burn, Slurs, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryvyn/pseuds/Ryvyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and your sibling fell into another world, deep underground. And, how should you put this...? Something is <em>wrong.</em> How will you and Frisk ever get home, and how do you go about fixing something you didn't break?<br/>Slow-burn romance, eventual smut.  Character tags will change as needed.  Actual content not yet Explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weed Whacked

**Author's Note:**

> Reader is afab agender and uses they/them pronouns.  
> I'm adding tags and characters as they happen, and I'll be upping the rating to Mature and Explicit when needed.  
> And yes, every chapter title is going to be some horribly lame pun fight me.
> 
> Comments and feedback are always super, super welcome ~~even though I don't reply much because I'm painfully awkward~~

 

 

 

It's the cloying smell of flowers that wakes you. 

You're lying on the ground with your face buried in a mound of too-sweet yellow blooms. You figure you must have been there for a while, because the arm you're laying on is asleep. And - oh shit, this is just perfect - you must be allergic to these gross flowers or something, because your eyes are itchy and your nose is running freely and your sinuses feel like they're stuffed with wool socks. Your scratchy groan is interrupted by a sneeze.

  
There's a voice nearby, and not a particularly familiar one. You sit up and rub your aching head, searching for Frisk. The room you're in is mostly dark, but it looks like a cave, all curving stone walls. There's a hole in the ceiling, way high above you.

  
You can just see Frisk at the edge of the pool of light you're sitting in, looking over their shoulder at you. They point at themself, make the sign for ' _handle_ ' and turn away. Curious, you get to your feet to find out what little Frisk thinks they can handle themself.

  
The voice is saying something now about "-make me introduce myself? It's rude to act like you don't know-" You see another yellow flower, this one bigger, with a cartoonishly cheerful face in its center, and it's  _talking_  to Frisk. Its leaves are mid-gesticulation when it spots you and cuts itself off with a "-hgrk!" You decide that you've hit your head and you're hallucinating.

  
You ruffle Frisk's hair and smile down at them. Their expression looks like something in the neighborhood of 'bored'. "Hey, Squirt, who's your friend?" you ask.

  
Frisk's face ticks at the word 'friend', but they sign _"F - L - O - W - E - Y"_ anyway.

  
"Flowey. Okay..." The flower's name is Flowey, because goddamn, why should it be anything else?! Your laugh is higher and a bit more hysterical than you intend and you tug on a lock of your hair to soothe yourself. "Wait, is that pronounced 'fl-OW-ee' or 'fl-OH-"

  
Something that feels like tree branches hits you from the side - hard - and knocks the wind out of you. You're dangling by a wrist and an ankle and you have no idea which way is up for a few sickening seconds. The flower's snarling face is right up in yours, the Disney® brand smile gone. A red haze is creeping in from the edges of your vision and you taste blood from where you must have bitten your tongue.

  
_"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"_  he howls. "What the FUCK are you  _DOING_?! Is this your idea of a joke?!! Humans can't die and then just COME BACK, you idiot!" He's a lot bigger now, and completely livid. Flecks of spittle hit your eyelids and make them itch worse. Ugh, this crazy fucker's breath smells like peat moss.

  
You breathe in and open your mouth to ask if he's off his meds, but you accidentally sneeze in the flower's face instead. Ow, your fucking diaphragm. You're pretty sure your ribs are gonna bruise bad from where he hit you with his - you look up at your wrist to see what's holding you - vines. You can feel more of them snaking around to capture your free limbs. 

  
The red clouding your vision gives a pulse that you almost... sense, on a level that you can't really define. It's not quite a physical feeling, but sort of like one? It makes your body seem like it's, you don't know, not a part of you? Just for a second. Or maybe it's the vines cutting off the circulation to your limbs.

  
Flowey gives you a jarring shake, rattling your teeth, and if possible, looks even more pissed. "How DARE you show that face HERE!! That's NOT FUNNY!!" he screams.

  
"Dude, I can be... wherever I want," you wheeze. Damn, he sure is wrapping those vines tight around your ribcage, fucking Ow. "Put me down, you... petal-having asshole." You can't move your arms to punch Flowey, but you can spit some blood at him.

  
He goes as still and silent as the grave. You can see Frisk on the ground far below you, beating their tiny fists against the vines. They pause to sign something with both hands that looks like _"Wait"_ but your focus isn't on their hands, it's on the glowing red heart hovering just in front of their chest. You realize that the red haze in front of your own eyes isn't from head trauma like you thought. You watch your own weird heart thing slowly emerge from your chest.

  
It doesn't hurt, whatever it is. Your Soul, you think? You feel another of those strange pulses and the back of your throat tastes like salt water taffy and ozone. 

  
Flowey starts to shrink back to his regular size. That saccharine-sweet mask is back in place; it's utterly ruined by the gob of blood and saliva dripping down his cheek. You're lowered to the ground, but the vines still hold you in place. Abruptly, the room changes. The stone walls fade out and everything is cast in deep shadow. You think you see shapes or lines layered over the darkness, but you're not sure. There's some kind of skippy, jittery 8-bit music playing somewhere.

  
You can't see Frisk anymore. 

  
"Frisk?! What the fuck did you do with Frisk?" You try to thrash at the vines, but you lack the physical strength to actually do anything. They're holding on too tightly. "If you hurt Frisk, _I'LL KILL YOU!!"_ you shriek. Your panic and rage fills you with determination.

  
The goddamn flower has the colossal gall to laugh brightly, like you've told a silly joke. "Tsk, tsk. Golly," he chides, "I hardly think you'll get the chance. I'm putting an end to whatever idiotic trick you're playing right now!" He erupts into manic giggles as he summons a salvo of white pellets - that you just know, in the back of your mind, are magic bullets.

  
You strain to move, to escape in any direction, but the vines caging you hold you fast. All you can do is wiggle feebly and watch in confused horror as the bullets form a ring around you and circle like tiny sharks, faster and faster, closing in for the kill. Flowey's peals of laughter have become deafening and, inanely, you sneeze again.

  
Out of seemingly nowhere, a ball of flame collides with the side of Flowey's face and bursts like a water balloon full of lighter fluid, splashing fire across his petals. His cackling turns to furious screams and he retreats into the ground, cursing and screeching threats, and pulling his accursed vines along with him. The cavern reappears around you with a disorienting  _pop_  and you stumble, because time-space is angled about three degrees further to the side than you left it and one of your feet is asleep.

  
Your first thoughts are of Frisk and you whirl frantically. There, at the mouth of a tunnel leading out of the room, they stand next to an unfamiliar tall figure, and you're hobbling toward them as fast as the pins-and-needles will allow. Your Souls, still sinking back into your respective chests, bump together with an indescribably peculiar sensation when you fall to your knees in front of their small body and drag them into a desperate hug.

  
Little hands stroke your cheeks and hair reassuringly and the sob you were choking back shudders out anyway. What the fuck even was any of that insane bullshit?! Why would some cracked-out, Bananas-in-Pyjamas-background-character reject drag you into the fucking Negaverse and try to murder you? What is this Soul malarkey and how the shit did it crawl up from the Pit of Impossible Nonsense? And just who in fucktardation is  _this_?

  
Steadier now, you pull away from Frisk's striped shirt to look up at your guest. A furry white face smiles kindly down at you. They - she? - have floppy ears and little horns. Another monster, that's great. Frisk tugs a lock of your hair and signs _"T - O - R - I - E - L"_ and _"friend"_. You push yourself shakily to your feet.

  
"Well. Toriel, is it? Would you mind telling me what the aych-ee-double- _Hell_ is going on here?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now that its been more than two years since i posted these first couple chapters, i am aware of how much they suck XD  
> someday i will get my ass in gear and rewrite them or something, but i have a figurative shitload of other stuff i want to write first


	2. Snappish

  

 

Flowey only shows his ugly, pollen-streaked mug again for a moment, long enough to screech more threats and call you an abomination.  He's gone before you can get any sense out of him, leaving you yelling questions into the shadows.  You honestly have no idea what his major malfunction is, but you begin to wonder if a few well-placed whacks with a rubber mallet might sort him out.

 

After the murky dimness of the ruins, the wooded trail you find outside the passageway is blinding. It's not even really that bright, you think; after a minute or two of squinting your eyes adjust enough that you can see a vast stone ceiling far above. You're still underground, so this can't even be as strong as sunlight. The snow - how the hell is there even snow down here? - is amplifying whatever kind of light this is enough to burn afterimages of snowbanks into your retinas. You use it as an excuse to discreetly rub at your eyes.

  
As sad as you are, you're so proud of Frisk. You can't say for sure that you would have had the same patience and courage if you had faced Toriel yourself.

  
She had been so helpful in getting through the ruins and its puzzles. So kind to give you both a place to stay and hot meals. So reluctant to let you leave. But Frisk had worn her down with their sheer stubbornness, made her see that they could never be held against their will like that. Not even if Toriel thought it was for their own good.

  
You smile glumly at Frisk. "You were right," you say. "She didn't hurt you."

  
" _Goat Mom is a beautiful cinnamon roll_." They have to balance their slice of butterscotch pie on their head to free their hands so they can sign. It's about the cutest thing you've ever seen, and you try to only snicker a little.

  
"Do you want me to carry your pie for you?" you offer. Frisk gives you such a blatant look of suspicion that you can't help but laugh, the knot of anxiety in your chest unwinding. "I promise I won't eat it. Cross my heart and hope to die." You even do the hand motions. After another ten whole seconds of consideration, they shrug and hand it to you, smiling. You stop walking to put it in your backpack with your own slice.

  
You catch sight of a dark figure out of the corner of your eye. It's gone before you can turn back to look, but a frisson of alarm skates up your spine and you know, you just know, that you're being watched. The tall, straight trees to either side of the path you walk crowd together and hem you in. There's really nowhere to run or hide. You feel claustrophobic for the first time since you were a child.

  
It's much too quiet all of a sudden. In the Ruins, there was always a Whimsun or a Froggit or something sidling up to you, or the fracas of Migosps going about their business nearby. Here, there isn't a single rustle in the undergrowth or far-off animal cry. Just cold, crystalline silence.

  
Frisk slips their chilly hand into yours and your heart jolts at the abrupt contact, but the tension is broken. You bite at your lips and keep watching the trees apprehensively, but allow yourself to be pulled along.

  
The two of you walk for a minute, and come to a long stick lying across the path. Frisk releases you to leap over it, then turns and executes an impressively regal bow, offering their hand to help you across. You titter coquettishly and lift the edge of your jacket in an approximation of a curtsy, taking the offered hand and stepping gingerly over on your tip toes.

  
"Thank you, sirrah," you flutter your eyelashes and coo dramatically. "My voluptuous satin skirts would have been simply ruined without your gallantry!" You pretend to swoon, back of your hand to your forehead. Frisk laughs, a hoarse, hiccuping sound that always warms your heart whenever you're fortunate enough to hear it. "So dashing," you sigh, and then break character with an impolite snort.  They toss a handful of snow at you.

  
Frisk is skipping ahead a few paces, so when they stutter-step and look back uncertainly, you know you're not imagining the strange feeling of _wrongness_ that washes over you. You experience an odd sensation, a kind of unfulfilled expectation, like miscounting the number of stairs in a flight and stepping up only to encounter nothing but thin air. There's no justifiable reason for you to even think it, but you _know_ that _something_ should have happened just now. And it didn't.

  
The claustrophobia rushes back in and you feel like the trees are walls waiting to press together and crush you flat. A scream claws at your lungs; you wrap both arms around your head and dig your nails into your scalp to keep it trapped inside. If you could just catch your breath, if you could just _calm down_ for one fucking second...

  
There's tugging at your jacket and you slowly release the death grip you have on your hair to see Frisk pointing further down the trail and waving you along. Your breath is still coming too fast and forming clouds in the frigid air and there's a stab of _HATE_ in your heart that's gone as quickly as it came. And you're horrified to realize that you can't tell if it was directed at yourself, or kind, gentle Frisk. Your throat burns and you taste bile.

  
The two of you come to a narrow plank bridge with some kind of wide-gapped wooden fence built diagonally across it. You test its sturdiness with one foot while Frisk stays on terra firma and watches. It seems strong enough, you guess. You do wish it had some kind of railing or something.

  
And just when you've made the mistake of thinking you might be halfway safe for a second...

  
**"H u m a n s."**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. The next one will be a lot longer, I think.


	3. Who's There

 

 

  
The kid is running late.

  
And not just a little late, like stopping-to-use-the-bathroom-before-they-left late. Two whole days late. Enough that Sans is starting to wonder if something has happened to them. The lady on the other side of the door had talked to him the other day, right on time, and asked him to watch over and protect the next human to come through. They are definitely in the Underground, so where the hell is the twerp?

  
Sans is starting to get a sinking feeling in the bottom of where his stomach would be. If, you know, he had one. The knock-knock jokes he was practicing had petered out a while ago, and now he's just sitting with his back against the massive door, rolling his skull from side to side to hear it rattle.

  
It's occurred to him before that there's nothing to stop the Door Lady from killing the kid. Heh, _door stop._ But really, Frisk had told him before about having to face her in a Fight. Who's to say that some day she wouldn't accidentally kill them? Or that they will never lose their patience or lash out at her in fear? Near as Sans can figure, this kid has only been through the Ruins a few times. There have to be countless variables and possible outcomes that haven't manifested yet.

  
He's just thinking about heading home for the day when he hears an unfamiliar voice from inside the Ruins. Okay, woah, this is new. What the hell is going on this time? Snow scatters as he scrambles gracelessly to his feet and vanishes into the woods to watch from a distance.

  
The heavy door grinds open and here's Frisk, finally. Better late than never. But they've never had someone else with them before...

  
Sans leans around a tree, the fabric of his hoodie catching on its bark, and squints against the reflected glare. All he can really tell from here is that you're another human, taller than the kid and probably older. He can't make out much of what you look like, just that you have a mop of brown hair and an overlarge backpack.

  
Well, whoever you are, Sans is sure you'll be just as fun to prank as Frisk. He teleports onto the path behind the two of you and his grin widens when he hears you chuckle at something the kid does, pleased that you seem to have a sense of humor. The kid is a great audience, make no mistake, but he's never heard them actually laugh, or make a joke back, or say much of anything aloud, really.

  
He's just thinking how nice it will be to have another person around to appreciate his puns and quips when you turn your head to reach for your pack and he sees your face in profile. He stumbles backward and slams against a tree trunk, a knot where a branch had broken away long ago digging into his scapula, before he even realizes that he instinctively teleported away. If Sans had a physical heart, it would be pounding; if he had any blood, it would be running cold.

  
His hands are shaking so hard that they clatter against his teeth with a sound like wooden wind chimes when he pulls a handful of his hoodie up to cover his mouth. It doesn't completely silence his panicked wheezing, but it muffles it somewhat.

  
You can't be here you can't be _you just can't_... Chara is _dead_ , dead and gone and buried. For nearly a hundred years.

  
And yet. There you are, large as life.

  
Sans feels a delirious laugh bubble up in his ribcage and forces it down, makes himself breathe. C'mon, there's no way in hell you can be Chara. You look a helluva lot like them, but so does Frisk, sorta. Maybe lots of humans look like that. What does a monster born and raised in the Underground know about the diversity of human facial features?

  
And besides, you're only maybe a handful of years older than Chara was when they died. If they had somehow faked their death and went into hiding back then, they'd be a decrepit old mummy by now, not a half-grown teenager.

  
Fat beads of sweat limned in blue are still forming on his cranium and Sans wipes them away with a spare sock, which he stashes in his pocket. He teleports again, this time staying just inside the treeline, to watch you and Frisk approaching the little foot bridge. You probably aren't Chara. Probably. But just in case, Sans will play it cool as ice. There's no need to let a bloodthirsty murderer know they've been made. If you are indeed Chara, your colors are gonna show through sooner rather than later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You stare at this _'sans. sans the skeleton'_ in slack-jawed shock.

 

You can't believe your ears. Or your eyes. Or anything ever, apparently. He's chuckling at his own prank, whoopee cushion attached to his palm, and grinning cheekily at you. The sound of an artificial fart echos in the trees around you. You laugh incredulously in spite of yourself, a short burst of sound like glass breaking, and wonder if you are losing your mind.

 

Frisk smiles reassuringly up at you and you relax a little. If they want to vouch for this guy, you decide that you'll trust their judgement.  For now.  They haven't steered you wrong so far. In fact, they seem awfully sure of themself in this strange place. You've been meaning to take them aside and question them properly, but Toriel had been hovering over you and fussing with the bandages around your bruised ribs for the last couple of days, so you haven't had a good chance.

 

Sans is talking to Frisk about how he slacks at his job and that you might want to watch out for his brother, but you're only kind of half-listening. You keep getting distracted as he talks by little details of his face that differ from what you know of skulls. His head is smoother and less textured than you'd expect. You don't really see any of the ridges or foramina that human bones have. And while he obviously has a voice, he's not moving his mandible to speak. He probably could, you're sure, but you suspect that he's just too lazy to do it. Or maybe it's another way he screws with people or something. His eyesockets are oddly dark; you should be able to see the backs of them but they're full of bottomless shadows and you can't see anything.

 

No, wait, scratch that. There _is_ something you can see in his eyesockets. Little pinpricks of light that are not unlike pupils, floating on what you assume is the surface of each 'eye'. And they're fixed on your own eyes. You realize he just said something to you and you didn't even hear it, and now he's waiting for you to answer or do something and you have no idea what. Embarrassed that you've been caught staring, you mutter a quiet 'say again?' and are halfway through shaking your head to dispel your wandering thoughts before you catch yourself and stop. Sans' grin subtly changes around the corners and turns into something you'd be confident calling a smirk, while one of his eyesockets actually flexes shut in a literal frigging _wink._ You find both of these motions fascinating to watch and promptly kick yourself.

 

"i said, you can go right through this gate thingy." He says it slowly like you're stupid, damn him. "the bars are too wide to stop anybody."

 

"Oh. Right," you manage. You're tall enough that you have to stoop a few inches, while Frisk and Sans just stroll underneath it. Something insulting about his height pops into your head and makes you frown. You've never picked on anyone for being shorter than you and you never would, so where the hell did that shit come from?

  
There's a clearing around the path here with a small building, like a lemonade stand, and... Ok, why the hell is there a lamp just sitting-

 

"quick, behind that conveniently-shaped lamp," Sans tells Frisk and they duck behind it without hesitation before he turns to you. "don't know where you're gonna hide, pal, but you better get there fast. here comes my brother."  He's shrugging and smirking unkindly at you again and you'd be more pissed about that if you weren't already running.  You're pretty sure he said something about his brother being a human hunter and you do _not_ want to find out how good he is at it.  There's a couple boulders near the treeline and you barely have time to dive behind them and hunker down before a shrill voice like a tornado siren fills the clearing.

 

"YOU KNOW WHAT'S "SUP," BROTHER!"  You shuffle around a bit, ribs aching from the sudden exertion and snow melting unpleasantly into the knees of your jeans, and try to peek between the boulders.  You wish to hell you'd had time to hide in the building over there.  "IT'S BEEN EIGHT DAYS AND YOU STILL HAVEN'T.  RECALIBRATED.  YOUR.  PUZZLES!"

 

Sans deals with his brother, a taller skeleton in a Speedo and a cape, handily enough.  You dearly want to crack him one whenever he tries to direct Papyrus' attention toward Frisk's hiding place - the jerk - but you soon recognize the reverse psychology for what it is, and eventually Sans' puns drive his brother away.  It nearly gives you an aneurysm when Papyrus dashes back for a final laugh at his own lame parting joke, just as you're trying to stand back up.

 

Once the coast is clear, for sure this time, you and Frisk return to the path.

 

"you guys outta get going.  he might come back.  and if he does..." Sans winks right in your scowling face.  "you'll have to sit through more of my hilarious jokes."

 

"Nah, you just hold on to your jokes," you tell him.  Frisk takes your hand and pulls you along.  "Be careful you don't damage 'em, though.  They're pretty _tear_ able."

 

There's several seconds of silence and then you hear Sans guffaw.  "ok, i'll admit it.  not bad, buddy.  not bad."  When you glance back, he's nowhere in sight.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that word, 'guffaw.' What a perfect word to describe a laugh so unexpected it comes out fuck-ugly.
> 
> The incredibly talented artist [betraeyal](http://betraeyal.tumblr.com/) has made some [absolutely fabulous fanart](http://deadringerofficial.tumblr.com/post/138262501184/betraeyal-theres-several-seconds-of-silence) for this chapter!


	4. Slip Up

 

 

 

  
You watch Papyrus twirling dejectedly away from his latest puzzle, and you've gotta admit, you feel pretty bad for him. He's proven to be loud and kind of obnoxious, but it's really rather endearing. His boisterous goofiness and unflappable overconfidence are growing on you. And he makes Frisk smile, which is always good in your book.

 

This is like the fourth puzzle to be either way too easy to solve or to just plain not work, and it's clear that it's starting to wear on Papyrus' resolve. You almost wish that his color tile maze thing had actually generated a challenging configuration, just to make him feel better. Even if you'd probably never be able to solve it, after Papyrus' incomprehensible explanation of what the colors do.

 

Sans is loitering on the other side of the puzzle, pretending to examine fingernails he doesn't have. "wow, you two sure made it through a _maze_ ingly fast." he says, tagging along with you.

 

You boo under your breath. "Maybe your brother shouldn't rely on puzzles to capture us. They always end up falling to _pieces_." you shoot back. The two of you lock eyes, trying to stare each other down while Frisk facepalms and tugs at the hem of your shirt.

 

 _"Stop fighting. You're both pretty,"_ they sign, rolling their eyes. You'd given them your jacket to keep them warm, so they have to shove the long sleeves up to their elbows to free their hands.

 

You crack a smile first, and Sans backs off. "anyway, that spaghetti from earlier... it wasn't too bad for my brother. since he started cooking lessons, he's been improving a lot. i bet if he keeps it up, next year he'll even make something edible."

 

"Oh, yeah?" You hadn't gotten to try the spaghetti; it was frozen to the table in a solid lump and there was nowhere to plug the microwave in. "Y'know, I worked in an italian restaurant once. Had to make like a million pounds of spaghetti every day. Maybe I can give Papyrus a few pointers...?"

 

You trail off and gaze up into the tree tops, thinking back to Vinnie's. It had been one of many part-time jobs you'd had, and while your foster parents gave you shit and called you a 'burger-flipper' for getting a food service job, you actually liked working there. Your boss knew how to manage and train employees without being a dick, most of your co-workers were chill stoner types, and you were allowed to make one free pizza for yourself per day.

 

Sans is staring at you oddly when you look his way. You pull hard at a lock of your hair, suddenly realizing that you might have overstepped your bounds and words start gushing from you. "Unless you think he'd be insulted if I offered? I don't wanna, like, hurt his feelings or something. Or make him think that I'm trying to patronize him? I-I mean, I'm sure he can do just fine without me trying to give him extra lessons. And I'm not really _that_ great, and, uh, I'm sure whoever is teaching him knows _waaaaay_ more about cooking th- _oof!_ "

 

Your word vomit is cut off when you suddenly go sprawling face-first across the cold ground. Sans is standing with his slippered foot still jutting out when Frisk helps you get back up. He fucking tripped you! That son of a bitch! The palms of your hands are scraped and your backpack came down right on your ribs, which give an angry throb that makes your eyes water.

 

"Frisk! Earmuffs!" you bark and they obediently clap their little hands, floppy sleeves and all, to the sides of their head. You round on Sans. "What the flying _FUCK_ did you do that for, you sack of mashed assholes!? That _hurt_ , goddammit."

 

"my bad," he says smugly. "you were babbling and tripping you was the first thing i could think of to make you stop. guess i coulda thought of a better way, huh?" He pulls his hands out of his pockets to shrug expansively and it makes your blood boil.

 

Disgusted, you press a hand to your side and turn and stalk away, hunching over a little. Frisk shoots Sans a dirty look and follows after, stroking your arm worriedly but not knowing what else to do.

 

You trudge past a bunch of broken long-necked snowdogs that you're almost entirely sure were made by Lesser Dog, and you can't help but relate to their smiling white faces, lying half squished on the ground. Sans is standing nearby, next to a sign that says 'AWARE OF DOG' and under it 'pleas pet dog.' You would wonder how he got ahead of you but you don't give a shit, and you pointedly ignore him as you walk by. He falls in step with you anyway but wisely stays out of arm's reach.

 

"c'mon, buddy, what's with the wounded bird act?" He's keeping his voice lighthearted and his expression neutral, but when you glare at him, you can see sweat - how the hell does a skeleton sweat? - gathered on his temples. "there's no way you can be that hurt from one little _crash landing_."

 

"If that was supposed to be a pun, it sucked. And I was already hurt," you grind out between your clenched teeth and angrily jerk the bottom of your shirt and undershirt up a little to show the bandages around your ribs. "It's why I've been letting Frisk handle all the monsters here. I can't move fast enough like this." Frisk had actually insisted on fighting, telling you that you'd only get yourself killed if you tried. It still took a lot of frantic signing and stubborn pouting to convince you.

 

Sans' eyebrow ridges and the corners of his perpetual grin draw down. "i didn't know..." he says, his voice quieter. "how did that happen?" 

 

The pain is dying back down a little but you can't straighten up all the way yet without feeling like you're being stabbed.

 

"The first monster we met after we fell into the Underground," you say. "Some crazy flower douchebag that went apeshit on me out of nowhere." Frisk frowns at you sharply when you swear and you mutter a 'sorry, kiddo.' "I got some pretty nasty bruises. And you did a _banged up_ job of making it worse, thanks."

 

You can see Sans in your peripheral vision but when you turn your head to make a rude gesture at him, he's gone. You suppose it's just as well. That pun sucked, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sans pretends to listen to his brother chattering away about his bridge trap, nodding here and there, but he can't shake his guilty conscience. The image of your face - furious, in pain, your eyes full of tears - swims through his mind.

 

He had no idea he would hurt you so much by tripping you. He just wanted to mess with you, see how you would react, certain that you'd try to attack him, which could confirm that you're Chara. Aside from what they looked like when they were ten years old, all Sans really knows about Chara is that they were described as 'lacking empathy' and 'prone to issuing threats of violence.'

 

You were being so _nice_ about Papyrus and his terrible cooking, offering to help teach him and then worrying about his feelings. It made Sans begin to seriously doubt his assumptions, and he just had to test you.

 

But then you looked at him, wounded and so, so angry, and still you turned away, even sparing a thought for Frisk's feelings... He realized that he was wrong to do what he did. Sans has no actual proof that you're Chara. It's just a hunch, and not even a very plausible one. And it becomes less and less likely the more he observes you.

 

He plops down on the ground and scrubs a hand over his face at the thought that he pretty much needlessly bullied an innocent human child. And what's worse, now Frisk is mad at him, too. He'll never hear the end of it if they tell Papyrus.

 

Sans groans and slumps into his hoodie, suddenly exhausted. He wishes he never got out of bed. "aw, damn, i'm gonna have to apologize."

 

"WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU JABBERING ABOUT OVER THERE, SANS?" shouts Papyrus from the middle of the bridge.

 

"oh, nothing. i was just thinking that the _tension_ of all this bridge talk is taking its  _toll_ on me..."

 

"OH MY GOD, SANS!"

 

But he's already asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Papyrus is waiting for you at the other end of a long, narrow bridge, his mittened fists on his hipbones. "NYEH HEH HEH!! THE HUMANS ARE HERE. AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE MASTERMINDED THE ULTIMATE TRAP TO CAPTURE THEM. SANS! SANS, WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!" He nudges a pile of bones in basketball shorts with one of his bright red boots, but all Sans does is flap a hand dismissively at him and roll over. "HOW CAN YOU BE LOAFING AROUND AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!" the tall skeleton demands.

 

There's a pause, during which Sans probably makes a joke that you're certain is about loaves of bread, and then his brother is stomping and shrieking in outrage.

 

You and Frisk share a look, shrug, and start across the bridge.

 

Papyrus gives up on trying to wake his brother and turns around. "HUMAN! THIS IS YOUR FINAL AND MOST DANGEROUS CHALLENGE! BEHOLD! THE GAUNTLET OF DEADLY-"

 

"Hold on!" you call out. "Which one of us are you talking to?" He's thrown off balance - he literally tips over onto one foot and flails his arms - by your interruption for a moment. "There's two humans here. Are you talking to me?"

 

Papyrus collects himself. "ERM, Y-YES? YES. I AM TALKING TO YOU. THE LARGE HUMAN."

 

"'Large human?!' Are you calling me fat??" You pretend to be offended and Frisk snorts behind their sleeve.

 

"OH, DEAR! NO, I WAS NOT TRYING TO CALL YOU FAT," he sputters, thrusting his hands out if front of himself, as if he's trying to physically ward off the accusation. "UM. O-OLDER HUMAN?" he tries.

 

You gasp and clap a hand over your heart dramatically. "And now you're calling me _old?!_ Why, I _never!_ How very rude! I think I shall cry." Frisk has their face buried in your chest and they're shaking and gasping with laughter. You give a loud, theatrical sniff and stick your lower lip out into the most exaggerated pout you can manage.

 

"OH, NOOOOOOO," Papyrus moans, his mittens pressed against the sides of his face in horror. There are comically fat tears gathering in his eyesockets and spots of bright orange color glowing on his cheekbones. You add crying and blushing to the list of stuff you thought skeletons couldn't do before today. "PLEASE DO NOT CRY, HUMAN. I DID NOT INTEND TO INSULT YOU. CAN YOU EVER ACCEPT MY APOLOGIES FOR TREATING YOU SO REPREHENSIBLY?" His voice wobbles with misery.

 

Sans appears to have woken up; he slowly stands and sorta shuffles over, rubbing drool from his chin, to give his brother a few half-assed pats on the back. His mandible actually moves as he yawns and when his teeth part, you can see that his canines are a little longer and more pointed than a human's.

 

Papyrus is anxiously chomping at his gloved fingertips the way you've seen old-timey cartoon characters biting at their fingernails, and maybe you feel a bit bad for messing with him. You didn't really mean for him to take you so seriously. You just wanted to _rib_ him a little. Ha! You decide to have mercy on him.

 

"Hm, I guess you really do seem sorry... Alright, I'll accept your apology," you say magnanimously. "All is forgiven. But, to prevent incidents like this in the future, maybe we can all just call each other by our names, hm?"

 

Papyrus' entire demeanor changes instantaneously and he's grinning and clapping his hands. He really is just too good for this world, too pure. "THAT'S A WONDERFUL IDEA!" he shouts.

 

You turn Frisk around and ruffle their hair affectionately. _"My name is F - R - I - S - K."_ they sign, sleeves rucked up around their elbows again. They're still snickering off and on.

 

"And my name is Chara. It's nice to meet you." You notice Sans watching you, an unreadable expression on his face, and it takes you a full second to realize that the little lights in his eyes are gone. His eyesockets are completely dark in a way that makes your skin crawl, and you find that it kinda pisses you off. You are 300% done with his capricious bullshit today. You look away.

 

"I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM VERY PLEASED FOR YOU TO MAKE MY ACQUAINTANCE." He strikes an intrepid pose, cape/scarf thingy billowing majestically even though there's no wind. "AND I BELIEVE YOU KNOW MY BROTHER-" He's in the middle of a sweeping gesture, but there's no one to gesture to. He's standing there alone.

 

"...SANS?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Snow crunches under his slippers. He doesn't know or care where he's going. Blue fire erupts from his left eyesocket and Sans raises a hand, also burning blue, to it. His laughter echoes through the trees.

 

He had almost convinced himself that you were just an innocent human, that it was impossible for you to be the same human who killed Dr. Gaster.

 

Hell, it's _still_ pretty much impossible for you to be them. Your age still doesn't match. Your mannerisms still don't match. You don't seem to know anything about the Underground.

 

But your face and your name are theirs.

 

And that's all Sans needs to know.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Bone Structure

 

 

 

You find the town of Snowdin charming right off the bat, from the cartoon snowman face in the O on its sign, to the little beady eyes on the star atop its Christmas tree.

 

Frisk stops by the first building you come to, a quaint shop. The rabbit woman inside is kind enough, assuming without any real dishonesty on your part that the two of you are monsters visiting from elsewhere in the Underground. The bunny-shaped cinnamon rolls she sells you are delightfully warm after the frozen woods. Frisk stuffs their pockets with as many at they can, but you cradle yours in your chilled hands for a long time before you start eating it.

  
There's several interesting people you want to talk to and buildings you want to explore - you're itching to get inside that 'LIBRARBY' - but Frisk marches right by them, despite your objections. Wherever they're leading you, they seem determined to get there posthaste.

  
You pass a lovely house with two mailboxes. One of them is stuffed past capacity with envelopes, with even more mail piled on the ground around it. You catch the name 'PAPYRUS' on the other mailbox as you walk by. This has to be the skelebros' house, then.

  
You're wondering if it would be a bad idea to stop in and say hi to Papyrus, seeing as he's trying to capture you and all, but Frisk pulls you along when your pace slows.

  
And then you're leaving the town before you even realize it. The road runs parallel to a river and you watch huge blocks of ice floating alongside you as you walk. Fog creeps across the ground, in wisps at first, but quickly builds to an impenetrable veil of pea soup.

  
The lapping of the river water is muffled; the crunch of dry snow under your boots seems too loud. Dread grips your heart, along with the sensation that the rest of the world has fallen into the void. You scoop Frisk into your arms, if only so you can hold them close and feel the solid weight of them. You nearly sob in relief when a familiar silhouette looms out of the mist.

  
"HUMANS."

  
"Hi, Papyrus!!" you call, sounding too desperate, even to your own ears.

  
You can't see him very clearly, but you think he's rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "W-WOWIE... YOU SURE DO SOUND HAPPY TO SEE ME...!" A gasp. "COULD IT BE THAT YOU WANT ME TO BE. YOUR. _FRIEND??"_

  
Frisk looks at you and grins. "Heck, yeah! I'd love to be your friend!" you laugh.

  
The tall skeleton bounds out of the gloom, and you think there are literal sparkles around his eyes. For a second, it seems like he's going to hug you, but he screeches to a halt instead, a horrified look on his face.

  
"NO..." he shouts so close your ears ring. "NO, THIS IS ALL WRONG. I CANNOT BE YOUR FRIEND, CHARA HUMAN!!! YOU ARE A HUMAN. AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MUST CAPTURE YOU IF I AM EVER TO FULFILL MY LIFELONG DREAM OF JOINING THE ROYAL GUARD!" He takes what he probably thinks is a battle stance.

  
Frisk wriggles out of your arms and plants themself defensively in front of you, their Soul already rising out of their tiny chest. You try to pull them behind you, but they shake your hands off and shove the sleeves of their borrowed coat up to their elbows.

  
_"I've got this,"_ they sign.

  
"Frisk, no!" This isn't some Ice Cap or Vegetoid. Papyrus is tough enough to be considered for a position in the Royal Guard. You grab for them again, and they let you get a grip on your coat, but they slip out of it and neatly sidestep you.

  
_"You're still too hurt."_ Frisk thumps your chest, rather cruelly, with the back of their hand, making you recoil and hiss in pain. They didn't even hit your bruises directly, god damn.  _"Don't worry. I'm good at this Fight."_

  
There isn't time for you to voice a single one of the many, many questions that statement raises. They bound away from you and launch themself headlong into battle before you can get through the first 'Wha-?'

  
Frisk immediately flirts with Papyrus. As distraction tactics go it's impressively effective, because he's immediately babbling about dating and dabbing all kinds of weird goop on the sides of his head, too busy to pay very much attention to what he's doing. You start to calm down when you see that the bones Papyrus is throwing at them are missing by miles and passing harmlessly by.

  
It occurs to you that you might be in for a wait, so you shrug off your heavy backpack and reach behind you to lean it against the backs of your legs, until your hand makes contact with something warm and alive. You can't help the startled scream that bursts from you. There's no stopping it, really. You whirl around so fast that you trip yourself up and have to flail for balance, but you manage to stay on your feet.

  
"Oh. Sans. You're here," you huff when you see that it's him. You're not at all relieved to see that it's 'only' him, honestly. Maybe if you were lucky it could have been Snowdrake, or one of the Dogs. Or, shit, you might even take a Jerry or three...

  
You can't say there's any particular expression on his face, or any kind of aggressive body language to tip you off, but something about the way he's looking at you creeps you out. He's just standing there, his hands in his hoodie pockets, slouching lazily. His perpetual grin is relaxed, you think. The little pinpricks in his eyes are there, watching you from under his brow ridges. You kinda feel like you're being sized up, even though he's not looking you up and down.

  
You try for cautiously jovial, hoping it's just your imagination. "Be careful about sneaking up on people like that. If I was _spine_ less, you might'a scared me _out of my skin_. heheh..."

  
No reaction. He doesn't move or say anything. In fact, he's standing preternaturally still. You suppose he probably doesn't have to breathe or blink, but...

  
Clearing your throat discreetly, you try again. "So, uhm... W-what's Papyrus' plan if he captures us? Is he gonna put us in a _rib_ cage? eh heh...?"

  
Nothing. You shift from foot to foot nervously, and his eyes - did they get dimmer, or is it just you? - follow your movement. It's the first change you've seen since you first noticed his presence. You were starting to feel like maybe somebody had planted a lifelike statue of Sans by you to fuck with your head, but no.

  
You catch yourself chewing at your thumb nail and struggle to make yourself stop. It's a bad habit you gave up years ago, but relapses still happen now and then.

  
From the Fight nearby, you hear Papyrus bellow something about a Special Attack at the tops of his... Well, he doesn't have lungs, so whatever the magical skeleton equivalent of lungs would be, you guess. When you turn to see what's happening, you notice Frisk's Soul. Something is wrong.

  
Their Soul is blue.

  
You call out their name, ready to intervene if they're in danger, but they wave you back and flash you the 'ok' signal. As you watch, they dodge another salvo of bones, and you notice that they're jumping directly over them, instead of moving around them like they were before. Perhaps this blue Soul thing is some kind of spell to limit their-

  
"you know," a deep voice says conversationally, "the old lady on the other side of the door never said anything about protecting a second human..."

  
You spin around to face Sans, who is standing right up in your personal space again. You hadn't heard him move. But this time, you don't back away. If he's gonna be lowkey sinister and then not laugh at your crappy jokes and _then_ say vague horseshit on top of it, you're not playing along by acting scared.

  
"What the hell are you talking about?" you demand. He's giving you that same appraising look, but now he's circling you with slow, deliberate steps. "What lady? What door?"

  
As soon as it's out of your mouth, you're sure you know what he's talking about. The huge door between the Ruins and the woods. Toriel. She's the only monster you know of who actively cares about protecting human lives.

  
Sans continues as if you hadn't spoken. You'd think he was talking to himself if you didn't also think that he was intentionally trying to frighten you.

  
"she only made me promise to watch over _A_ human, and protect _A_ human. singular." He stops, tilts his head to the side a few degrees to examine your face in profile. "one."

  
Your skin crawls. You fight to keep your composure and don't answer. You're pretty sure you know what he's getting at here, even if you don't know why. Papyrus had only ever talked about capturing you. But from how Sans is acting...

  
"do you get what i'm saying? ...buddy." Your mouth is dry but you try to swallow, and force yourself to look at him. The lights in his eyes vanish, like candle flames being snuffed out. His smile stretches at the corners into something viscerally inhuman. "...You'll be dead where you stand."

  
Before you can protest or run, his hand shoots out and an unseen force roots you to the spot. Magic fire sparks in one of his eyesockets, flickering blue to yellow. He raises his hand and you rise into the air along with it, and when your Soul emerges from your chest, it's blue.

  
You twist in the air, trying to stay upright, and your ribs twinge. Being held up by your Soul doesn't hurt, oddly, but struggling against it like that does. You wrap your arms protectively around yourself and grimace. Sans fucking winks at you, the sadist. You wish you had something to throw at his smug face.

  
"can't say this won't hurt, pal. but i don't get off on suffering. i'll make it quick. so, don't be _blue."_ he chuckles, like this is somehow funny.

  
You growl at him. "Oh, _now_ is the time to crack jokes, I see." you say, snippy. You prod experimentally at your ribs and stars dance behind your eyelids. There's no way you can defend yourself in the shape you're in. One hit to your side and you'll probably pass out from the pain, and that will be that. "Alright, well, sh-shit. Looks like this isn't gonna be much of a Fight... I'm well and truly _boned_ , I guess... heh." The pun is really only muttered to yourself, and your smile is mirthless.

  
You numbly think that this isn't how you'd hoped you'd die. You're probably about to be beaten to a bloody pulp against the ground, unable to fight back, by some apparently telekinetic guy you barely know because... What, he's too lazy to capture you alive? Because he's a raging asshole? Who even knows?

  
You hope Frisk is too busy to watch this. A voice in your head whispers that this is not gonna be a clean, kid-friendly death scene. They're only eight years old; they don't need to grow up with the image of your splattered corpse in their head.

  
You crane your neck back to check on their Fight and it doesn't look like they're doing too hot, either. They take a running jump over a series of bone attacks and nearly make it, but the last one catches them in the leg and they go tumbling. They tuck into a neat roll and end up on their feet, but you can see even from where you are that they've taken damage.

  
Papyrus readies his next barrage, only to realize they are non-bone attacks and he starts his preparations over again, monologuing about his Special Attack all the while. Frisk ignores his antics and stuffs an entire cinnamon bunny in their mouth, chewing it maybe twice before swallowing it nearly whole.

  
The force holding your Soul suspended in midair suddenly cuts out and you drop before it grabs you again and you bounce to a stop a few feet from the ground. You whip your head around to face Sans, ready to chew his ass bones for that, but you've bitten your tongue again, right where you bit it when Flowey clobbered you. You clap your hands to your mouth and yowl into your palms. OWWwwwwwchies...

  
"it's rude to ignore people, kiddo. i asked you a question," he says quietly. When you just glare, he continues. "i asked if you think even the worst person can change? do you think everybody can be a good person, if-"

  
"Yeah, I do," you bark, impatient. "Now shut your fuck for a minute." His eyesockets go wide in surprise, but you're already twisting your neck uncomfortably so you can watch Frisk's fight over your shoulder. If they're in danger, if they can't handle this fight after all... You have no idea how you'll manage it, but if you have to you'll go through Papyrus and Sans both, bruised ribs and blue bones and telekinesis be damned.

  
"I can't really do shit about it if you're gonna kill me, but first I gotta make sure Frisk is safe. In fact, I don't know why _you're_ not paying more attention to this, _Sans."_ Your tone is scalding and you spit his name like it's a vile curse. "You've got a sibling in this Fight, too."

  
He makes a 'hmmm' sound after a few seconds of silence and then you're dumped unceremoniously onto your butt in the snow. It knocks some of the wind out of you, so when you call him a 'shitskull,' it comes out as a harsh rasp. You smother your reflexive coughing, because you just know that would hurt your chest even more than the impact.

  
You struggle to your feet and focus on Frisk. They're holding their own. Remarkably, they don't seem to be any worse for wear, even though you know you saw them get hit.

  
Sans shuffles up next to you, as if that's ok for him to do. You weigh the merits of decking him. Maybe you could knock out one of those pointy canines to keep as a souvenir. You could hang it from a chain around your neck as a keepsake, so you could reminisce about sucker punching him for years to come.

  
"when you're right, you're right, bud." He sighs heavily and sags, as if scaring you witless and threatening your life has plumb tuckered him out. "i uh, i guess i can take a rain check. for now."

  
"You sure about that?"

  
He looks at you, quirking a brow ridge. The lights are back in his eyesockets again. "what? you wanna get pasted, after all?"

  
"Nah, I'm good. I was just wondering if you're sure you want a rain check. Cold as it is, I'd think you'd want a _snow bank_ , instead," you deadpan.

 

"that was really stupid..." Sans mutters.

  
You make double finger pistols at him, your expression blasé. "You loved it, don't lie."

  
Sans' grin twitches at the corners and sweat appears on his forehead. "...you sure are one weird kid, y'know that?" But he's laughing, you can see his shoulders shaking. "rain would be better in this case, though. because i'm calling for a _cease fire."_

  
You facepalm and giggle, still giddy with adrenaline. And then you have a mini heart attack and stumble backwards when that blue magic crackles to life in his eye again, but he directs his magic toward Frisk and boosts them over a towering bone attack instead of turning it on you. You're trying to decide if you're going to thank him for helping your sibling, but you blink and he vanishes into thin air.

  
Papyrus and Frisk chitchat for a minute after ending their Fight and then walk together to where you're standing, staring blankly at the space Sans was just occupying.

  
"AH, CHARA HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HONORED THAT YOU STAYED TO WATCH ME FIGHT. YOU DON'T HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING, I CAN TELL HOW IMPRESSED YOU ARE WITH MY UNBEATABLE FIGHTING STYLE!" But there's dejection in his voice, despite the bravado of his words. You open your mouth to tell him you were there to watch Frisk, but he perks up and cuts you off with a raised hand. "I AM SORRY BUT I CANNOT SIGN AUTOGRAPHS RIGHT NOW. I HAVE TO GET READY!!"

  
_"We have a date,"_ Frisk signs.

  
"Haha, wut? When is this?" you ask, surprised.

  
_"Right now!"_

  
Papyrus rushes on ahead, literally - literally - walking on air. You stare after him, dumbfounded, but Frisk pulls on your hand and as you follow them, you chalk it up to magic and don't dwell on it. You figure you'll keep more of your sanity for longer in the Underground if you don't dwell on every little impossible thing that somehow happens anyway.

  
The two of you meet up with Papyrus in front of his house and after some ado, he invites you both inside.

  
As you're walking to the door, a thought pops into your head and a laugh tumbles out, unbidden. You try to fight it, but you snort loudly and it just makes you laugh harder, until your legs refuse to support you any longer and you sink to the ground. Snow is melting into the seat of your pants. You're trembling and beginning to wheeze. Tears pour down your face.

  
The last few days crash into you all at once. All the fear and pain. Every stressful moment and surreal situation. Every heart-stopping close call. Every time you felt like you were about to watch your kid sibling die...

  
Your ribs are killing you and you curl into yourself, trying to slow your breathing. Your face is numb and your throat is tight. You gulp in air as deeply as you can and after several minutes of losing your shit, you begin to steady.

  
"CHARA HUMAN...?" Papyrus yells gently. Frisk is rubbing your back in firm circles. You're laughing and crying in equal measure.

  
"Hahhhhhahaha... It's a... It's a sk-skeleton's house," you choke out breathlessly. They look at each other, bewildered.

  
"You c-could say it's a _BONE STRUCTURE!_ HAHAHAHAHA-"

  
_"OH. MY. GOD. HUMAN, STOP!!!"_

 

 

 

 


	6. Spaghetting Settled In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @_@ This chapter is ssosooooooooossoosoooooooooooo long, holy crap why do I do this to myself?!?

Despite how many Christmas lights there are on the outside of Papyrus and Sans' house, the inside is bare of holiday decorations. You like the openness of the space and how the furniture is all functional pieces that don't crowd or clutter the living room. You find yourself wondering if you might be able to buy a pair of hi tops in the same blue and purple as their living room carpet.

  
You slip off your backpack and lean it against the sagging couch as Frisk makes a beeline for the kitchen. "So, what are your intentions on this 'date' with my Frisk?" you ask Papyrus sternly, channeling your inner hardass Shotgun Dad.

  
He freezes like a deer in headlights, sweaty and uncertain. "I UH... I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN, CHARA HUMAN."

  
You clap him on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. He wobbles from the impact and gulps audibly, even though he doesn't have a throat and you're at least a full head shorter than him.

  
"That's ok." You're smiling, but it's more like a baring of teeth and your eyes are flinty. "You seem like an intelligent skeleton. I'm sure you're smart enough to behave like a gentleman and keep your hands to yourself, without me having to explain what will happen to you if you don't."

  
He stammers for a moment, and you remember how seriously he takes it when you mess with him like this. You're probably gonna give him whatever magical skeleton monsters have instead of coronaries someday, if you're not careful.

  
You pat his shoulder again, gentle this time, and your smile turns genuine. "Sorry, Papyrus. We humans have this tradition of scaring our loved ones' suitors before first dates."

  
His posture relaxes a little, like some of the air has been let out of him. "R-REALLY?"

  
"Oh, sure, yeah. Usually, threatening potential boyfriends would be the responsibility of a father, but since we don't really have one and I'm Frisk's only family member here, I figured I'd go ahead and take care of it." You shrug, like it's a completely normal thing for you to do. "Y'know. Get it out of the way."

  
"I SEE... WELL, UM, THANK YOU?? FOR INCLUDING ME IN YOUR TERRIFYING HUMAN RITUAL??? I GUESS..?" Papyrus still looks nervous, and opens his mouth like he's about to say something else, but a bark and a clatter from the kitchen interrupts him.

  
You rush together to the kitchen, and both of you nearly trip over the small white dog that bowls through your legs and out the front door. Frisk is standing beside an open cabinet, where the dog had apparently been hiding, looking largely unruffled. Papyrus screeches 'CATCH THAT MEDDLING CANINE!!' but it's already gone.

  
"IT TOOK ONE OF MY NEW SPECIAL ATTACKS!! I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO USE THAT ONE YET!" the skeleton howls mournfully and mopes into the living room to sulk. You decide to leave him be for now and stay in the kitchen to watch over Frisk. They're just nonchalantly poking around, but you want to make sure they don't break anything or un _leash_ , hehe, any more dog-related mayhem.

  
When they're done exploring the kitchen, they head back into the living room and you follow. While they're looking at a rock in a box, you notice a sock covered with sticky notes on the floor. You're grinning like a loon by the time you're done reading through them. These brothers really are something else.

  
Sore and tired from the long day and carrying around your heavy backpack, you decide to sit. The couch jingles when you plop down on it, then you have to lean and scoot your butt around while Frisk rummages under the cushions. They come up with a handful of coins and drop them in their pocket.

  
"Hey," you admonish them, "that's not yours."

  
"IT'S ALRIGHT," shouts Papyrus reassuringly, evidently done with his pity party. "THIS HOUSE HAS A LONG-STANDING POLICY OF 'FINDERS, KEEPERS!!'"

  
"Oh, is that so?" you ask. "I would have thought this would be a strict 'updawg' household..."

  
His brow ridges furrow in confusion. "WHAT IS 'UPDAAAAAAAHH- **NO!!!** I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM NOT FALLING FOR THAT AGAIN!!" He stomps his boots in fury and shakes his fists at your laughing face.

  
Frisk knocks on the wall at the top of the stairs to call attention to themself. _"Let's go,"_ they sign to Papyrus.

  
"AH, THAT'S RIGHT! IF YOU'VE FINISHED LOOKING AROUND, WE CAN GO INTO MY ROOM AND... DO WHATEVER PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY DATE???" From the way he says it, you can tell he's not being forward; he legitimately doesn't know what people might do on a date, so you're really not worried. He cautiously looks to you for the go-ahead.

  
"Just leave the door open," is all you say. He throws you a jaunty salute and follows Frisk into his room.

  
You can clearly hear when he starts whispering to them, because it's not even a whisper, just breathy yelling. "SAY, FRISK HUMAN, DOES YOUR OLDER SIBLING MAKE CREEPY FACES AND SAY SCARY THINGS OFTEN???" You can't see Frisk's reply from where you are, but Papyrus says "...OK..." and begins showing them his action figures.

  
You pull your backpack into your lap. You'll need to do something while they're busy, and now is as good a time as any to clear out some of the unnecessary junk you've been carrying around. Rather than bring stuff out one item at a time, you just unzip all the pockets and upend the whole business on the floor, shaking it until nothing more falls out.

  
The plastic containers with the slices of Toriel's butterscotch pie are set off to the side immediately. You'll put them into your pack last so they stay at the top. You gather up at least two scooping handfuls of loose fun-size candy, what's left from the Halloween candy Frisk shared with you, and put it with the pie. Along with a weird donut Frisk bought from some spiders and insisted you keep and a bottle of lotion you forgot you own.

  
Into another pile, you sort your school notebooks and folders, two textbooks, a handful of pencils and pens, and a scientific calculator. And more crumpled worksheets - probably all definitely overdue, haha oops - than you really want to count.

  
Frisk showed you those weird boxes; 'Dimensional Boxes' they called them, spelling it out with their fingers. Apparently they're all connected with magic and anything placed in one box can be accessed from any other box in the Undergound, which is just the neatest shit, and you fully intend to make use of them. Rather than carry all this crap with you everywhere, you plan on putting anything not useful into a box, and then you can grab it all back out when you and Frisk figure out how to get home.

  
"Hey, Papyrus!!" you holler up the stairs. Something thuds on the floor up there and he answers hesitantly, like he's afraid he's done something wrong. "Do you have like a paper sack or something I can have?"

  
"OH!! YES, IN THE CABINET UNDER THE KITCHEN COUNTER THERE SHOULD BE A TREASURE TROVE OF PLASTIC BAGS! PLEASE HELP YOURSELF TO AS MANY AS YOU NEED!!"

  
"'Kay, thanks, bro!"

  
Another breathy whisper/shout. "DID THEY... THEY JUST CALLED ME BRO!!!! DOES THAT MEAN WE'RE 'BESTIES' NOW, OMG??? NYEH HEH HEH!!"

  
You pick out all the empty wrappers, old receipts, and bits of assorted garbage and take them with you to the kitchen to dump in the trash can, then grab a plastic bag. All your school stuff fits in a single bag, which is great because that means you won't be taking up any extra storage slots in the Dimensional Box.

  
Finally, all that's left is your tablet. You've been putting it off long enough; now it's time to face the music. It was on your back when you fell through to the bottom of that huge cavern, while you were getting your shit kicked in by Flowey, and when Sans tripped you in the woods. There's really no way it didn't get smashed at some point.

  
Your phone managed to survive all of the abuse it sustained riding in your coat pocket, but it's a cheapo flip phone. As everyone knows, according to the inverse relationship between cost and durability, phones that cost less are also made of tougher materials, and yours cost you like eighteen bucks plus tax at the local supermarket. One time you accidentally dropped it down a flight of stone stairs and it was fine.

  
Your tablet, on the other hand... Ok, maybe not 'on the other hand,' because it's a cheap Walmart piece of crap, too, but... It's got a way bigger screen than your phone, so it definitely has to be far more fragile, and its only protection is the unpadded folding case it came with. You're sure it's in a million little pieces in there.

  
You open it up, expecting the worst and... It's not broken. There's not a single scratch in the screen or bent corner or ding or crack anywhere on it. You push the button and the display turns on properly. It even still has about a third of the battery left.

  
You curl up on the couch, knees to your chest, cradling your tablet like it's some precious treasure, and just... breathe. If anyone ever asks you later whether you're tearing up, you'll deny it until your final dying gasp, but here you are. For at least the fifth time today, your eyes are wet and your chest is tight.

  
It's not like your tablet is a sentimental memento or anything, but it's one of the few things in this world that belongs to you and only you, bought with your own money that you earned doing your own job. Nobody can ever hang it over your head to guilt you, or threaten to take it back to force your compliance, like they do with your clothes, your meals. Your home. Frisk.

  
Blargh, fuck! You don't wanna think about that shit right now! Your life and your problems are way the hell up in the Aboveground. They'll all still be there when you get back, so you might as well just worry then, when you might be able to do something. For now, you guess you'll try listening to some music.

  
You're still indecisively scrolling around in your playlists when Papyrus comes bounding down the stairs. Frisk follows after at a more sedate dash and bounces onto the couch next to you, snagging your tablet and switching to their own playlist. You ruffle their hair and they bat at your hand playfully.

  
"So, how did you guys' date go?" you ask.

  
Papyrus strikes his valiant pose. "YOUR CONFIDENCE IN MY STRENGTH OF CHARACTER WAS NOT MISPLACED, FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WAS A PERFECT GENTLEMAN!! THE MOST PERFECT GENTLEMAN, EVER!!! NYEH HEH HEH!!"

  
_"He dumped me,"_ Frisk signs.

  
The skeleton flinches and his scarf/cape thing, which has been billowing majestically in the non-existent breeze, falters mid-wave and slaps across his face. He flails his hands at it, making loud spitting noises, and eventually fights it into submission.

  
"DO NOT BE SAD, FRISK HUMAN!!!" he wails mournfully. "I AM SORRY THAT I CAN NEVER RETURN YOUR INTENSE ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR ME!! OH, WHY MUST I BE SO MARVELOUS AND ENTICING???" He shakes his fists at the ceiling, like he's cursing the sky, even though it's not visible from the Underground. "BUT!! I HAVE VOWED TO FIND THE NEXT BEST PERSON TO BE YOUR PARAMOUR, SO THAT YOU MAY ONE DAY MOVE ON AND OVERCOME YOUR HEARTBREAK!!!"

  
_"Sure, if you want to, go ahead,"_ they sign dismissively. They're grinning, amused, and you wouldn't be surprised if this is what they expected to happen all along. _"Anyway, look at this!"_ They hold up your tablet, excited to show it off.

  
You shift over so he can sit on the couch, too. He rolls with the abrupt change of subject smoothly. "WOWIE, THAT THING SURE IS NEATO! ER, WHATEVER IT IS..."

  
For the next hour, you and Frisk take turns showing Papyrus how to play music and games. The more things you show him, the more fascinated he is by the device, but... He just can't seem to actually use it.

  
He tries to tap and slide his fingertips around the touchscreen like you show him, but nothing happens. Taking his mittens off doesn't help, either. His phalanges clack against the screen and you worry that he might accidentally chip the glass.

  
"I always thought touchscreens respond to body heat," you muse. The three of you are crammed together on a two-seat couch, and you can clearly feel Papyrus' warmth against your side. He doesn't seem to produce any less body heat than the average person, so then why...?

  
"Maybe it has something to do with having squishy meat bits...?" You contemplate your fingertips and the soft pads of flesh over your phalanges. Papyrus pokes at one of them and clicks his own fingers together dejectedly. "I guess you'll just need help using it until we can figure something out?"

  
Frisk throws their hand in the air and waves it. You nudge Papyrus with your elbow and wink. "Can you think of anyone who might help you use the tablet?"

  
"HMM..." He winks back at you audibly and rubs his chin. Frisk waves their hand in front of his face and shakes his shoulder, bouncing in their seat. "I DON'T KNOW... I'D ASK UNDYNE FOR HELP BUT SHE LIVES ALLLLL THE WAY OVER IN WATERFALL!"

  
"Well, yeah, and she'd probably capture us instead of helping, right? No, we need somebody who's already a little closer..." Frisk is now standing on the couch, waving both of their hands in both of your faces and humming impatiently. "What about your brother?"

  
"WHAT, SANS?! NO, NO, HE'S FAR TOO LAZY!!"

  
"Ah, true. And besides, his hands are skeletal, same as you. He'll need help to use my tablet, too."

  
"WAIT, YOU'RE WILLING TO LET SANS USE YOUR TABLET??" Frisk hops down from the couch to dance from foot to foot in front of you, slapping at your knees. "I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE TWO OF YOU WERE, UH, NOT FOND OF EACH OTHER?"

  
"Haha, right?? I have no idea what that's even about! And I wouldn't have a problem with him if he didn't have such a problem with me. But, no, like, I guess I don't mind if he uses my tablet. As long as he understands that if he breaks it, he's gonna _buy it_." And you mean that in every sense of the phrase.

  
Frisk flops across your and Papyrus' lap with a frustrated groan. "OH!! FRISK HUMAN!" Papyrus yells. "ARE YOU VOLUNTEERING TO ASSIST ME?? WHAT A SPLENDID, TINY FRIEND YOU ARE!!!" He scoops them up into a cuddly hug, making them squirm and gasp with laughter.

  
You unfold yourself from the couch and stand. "Well, anyway. It's getting late. We'd better head out if we wanna have time to get dinner before we go to the inn."

  
Papyrus stands, too. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, CHARA HUMAN?? I'M COOKING YOU A GOURMET SPAGHETTI DINNER AND YOU'RE SLEEPING HERE!!!" And then he just struts off toward the kitchen, carrying a wiggling Frisk under one arm, like that's the end of the discussion.

  
"Wait! No, that's-" You follow after him, twisting a fistful of your shirt anxiously. "That's kind of you, but it's really not necessary. We don't want to be a burden-"

  
He cuts you off by pulling you into an affectionate headlock and all but drags you by your neck into the kitchen. "NONSENSE!!!" he exclaims. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL NOT ALLOW TWO OF MY BEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WORLD TO LEAVE MY HOUSE WEARY AND UNFED!!! IT WOULD BE UNCONSCIONABLE!!" He dumps Frisk onto the kitchen counter and releases you. "NOW, MARVEL AT MY PROWESS AS I CREATE A MASTERPIECE OF CULINARY ART FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT!! NYEH HEH HEH!!"

  
You fidget with your shirt again, bashful in the face of his exuberant hospitality. "Um... Well, then, actually. If we're gonna have dinner, we should probably wash up first." Your hands are pretty nasty. There's black muck under your fingernails and dirt embedded in the scrapes on your palms.

  
Papyrus picks up one of Frisk's hands to scrutinize. They're just as gross as yours, and the cuffs of their sweater sleeves are so caked in grime they're more brown than blue. He clucks like a disapproving mother hen when he cards his fingers through their hair and bits of leaf and grass rain down on his clean counter top.

  
"HM, YOU _DO_ BOTH SEEM TO BE EXTRAORDINARILY FILTHY!!" He talks right over your mock-insulted mutter of 'rude.' "COME, HUMANS, THIS WAY!" He swoops Frisk up again, this time over his shoulder, and strides out with them kicking their feet and you trotting at his heels.

  
Upstairs, he walks past his room, a still life painting of a bone, and another closed door. A flickering orange light shines through the crack under it, giving you the distinct impression that the room on the other side is on fire. Papyrus pays it no mind, so you decide it must be some kind of magic shenanigans again and let it go.

  
At the end of the landing that overlooks the living room is an archway leading to a short corridor. Papyrus opens the first door in the hallway and ushers you into a small bathroom, setting Frisk on their feet and flicking on the light switch. He disappears for a moment, you hear another door open, and then he's back with a stack of fluffy towels and a cardboard box.

  
"Uh, I don't think we'll need all these towels just to wash our hands..." you say when he shoves them into your arms.

  
Papyrus puts the box down on the sink and starts pulling clothes out of it. "YOU _WILL_ NEED ALL THESE TOWELS, BECAUSE YOU'RE _NOT_ JUST WASHING YOUR HANDS!!" He tosses a basketball jersey and a pair of sweat pants at you and you have no free hands to catch them, so you have to use your face as a backboard to get them to land on the towels.

  
"PUT YOUR SOILED GARMENTS OUTSIDE THE DOOR AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL WASH THEM FOR YOU!! YOU MAY WEAR THESE OLD CLOTHES UNTIL YOURS ARE CLEAN AND DRY." He drapes a t shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts over Frisk's shoulder. "I BUY EVERY MTT BRAND HYGIENE AND BEAUTY PRODUCT THAT GOES ON THE MARKET, SO YOU SHOULD HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED! I EXPECT YOU BOTH TO BE SHOWERED AND DRESSED BY THE TIME I FINISH COOKING!!"

  
He stares into your eyes unyieldingly, one fist on his hip, brandishing a finger like a stern librarian, daring you to open your mouth to protest. Which, actually, you have tried several times since he gave you the towels. But you recognize an ultimatum when one is given to you and wisely choose to obey, instead. Satisfied, he nods and takes his leave, shutting the door.

  
"So, Squirt, you wanna go first?" Frisk shrugs and starts to toe off their shoes. You turn to the sink and rummage around in the cabinet underneath.

  
Geez Louise, Papyrus wasn't kidding when he said he buys _everything_ MTT sells. There's so many bottles, jars, tubes, and canisters of goo and powder in there that you have to pull out three armloads just so they stop toppling onto the floor.

  
You read labels until you find some shampoo. The bottle says it's 'Rapture Sludge' and contains a glittery purple substance that smells so unrelentingly sweet your teeth reflexively ache. You also find a bar of what appears to be soap, except it's dayglo pink, seems to be made almost entirely of rhinestones, and is molded into the shape of a... calculator, you guess?

  
Frisk has already begun to shower, so you hand them the soap and shampoo around the edge of the curtain, careful not to let water spray out onto the floor.

  
You strip from the waist up, leaving your bra on, and start unwinding the bandages around your torso. With every new inch of bruises that you uncover, the compression around your ribs lessens and the pain ramps up until you're kneeling on the floor, fighting to keep your breaths deep. Not too deep, because that just makes the pain sharper, but deep enough that you're not panting.

  
It takes a while to acclimate to the pain, and Frisk is already getting out of the shower by the time you can stand again. They hover at your side, dwarfed by the fluffy towel they've wrapped themself in, and make abortive gestures toward your injuries, unsure of what they should do or say. You try to give them a reassuring smile, but you're afraid it probably looks more like a grimace.

  
"I'll be ok," you wheeze. "How are you doing? Are you hurt anywhere?" They shake their head and you breathe a - not too big - sigh of relief. "That's good. Go ahead and get dressed and you can go hang out with Papyrus while I take my shower, ok?" After just a second of hesitation, they give your hand a gentle squeeze and do as you ask.

  
Once they've left the bathroom, you shuck off your bra and the rest of your clothes, bundling them and your bandages up with Frisk's clothes and setting them outside the door. The water stings when it first hits your bruises and you choke out a sob, but oh~, it's deliciously hot, and before long the tension is melting out of your muscles and you're just slumping against the tile wall and letting the spray beat down on you.

  
It's only when your skin is lobster red and you're starting to feel dizzy from the heat that you get down to the business of cleaning yourself. The shampoo is even more sickly sweet when it's out of the bottle, so you rush through using it as fast as you can. The bar of soap lathers - to your extreme disbelief - even more than regular soap, so much so that you'd classify it as more of a carbonated fizz than a lather. But it does its job of lifting the dirt and gunk out of your skin well enough and before you know it, you're done.

  
The mirror is fogged when you step out of the shower. You suppose it's just as well. The angry black and purple blotches on your side are visible enough without a mirror.  
You towel off and put on your borrowed outfit, only experiencing a moment's awkwardness at the prospect of going commando. Beggars can't be choosers and you're not putting your undies back on until they've been washed.

  
The sweat pants fit well enough around your waist but they only fall to just below your knees; at first you thought the ends of the legs had been cut off, but now you can see that it's more like they've been grated off against the ground by somebody walking on the hems. You wish Papyrus had given you a shirt with sleeves. The arms holes of this jersey are small enough that they don't show off anything private, but...

  
Well, maybe if you act natural, Papyrus won't notice the constellation of light bruises on your bicep or won't realize what they are. Maybe he'll just assume you got them at the same time as the ones on your ribs that spread up into your armpit.

  
You straighten up the bathroom, give your hair a few last once-overs with your towel, wish you had brought a brush, and then head downstairs.

  
There's a card table in the middle of the kitchen now, with four folding chairs around it. You're unpleasantly surprised to see Sans in one of them, his slippered feet propped on the tabletop, slouching into his hoodie and snoring a little. Frisk waves at you when you walk in and Papyrus shouts a greeting, which makes Sans jerk awake with an undignified snort and nearly topple over.

  
Papyrus passes Frisk a plate and starts dishing up another while you try to maneuver around Sans. He has his chair pushed almost all the way to the wall and just stares at you sullenly from under his eyebrow ridges as you awkwardly shimmy through the gap. Finally, you take your seat, wedged a bit uncomfortably between the table and the sink. The kitchen really just isn't big enough for this.

  
"HERE YOU ARE, CHARA HUMAN!!" Papyrus plunks a heaping plate of spaghetti down in front of you and sits in the last chair. You remember Sans' less-than-stellar opinion of his cooking, but Frisk is already nibbling at theirs, so you begin to think that Sans was just being a jerk.

  
Until you try to pick up a forkful of spaghetti and most of the pile comes with it. A few gobbets of sauce drip back onto your plate and quiver like viscous gelatin.

  
"Uhhh... Papyrus, your sauce is incredibly... How should I put this?" Sans shoots you a threatening look, probably trying to keep you from insulting his brother's cooking to his face, like he doesn't do that behind his back, the hypocrite. "Erm, thick. Tell me, what did you put in it?" you ask, trying not to notice how much it resembles clotted, bloody mucus. You may have cried a few times today, but you haven't vomited once, thank you very much, and you're not about to end your winning streak.

  
Papyrus, rather than seem insulted, beams a huge grin at you. "I AM SO GLAD YOU NOTICED!" he exclaims, pride (somehow) shining in his dark eyesockets. "UNDYNE SAYS THAT FINE CUISINE SHOULD BE AN OPPORTUNITY TO TRAIN YOUR BODY AS WELL AS NOURISH IT!! THE MORE DIFFICULT IT IS TO CHEW, THE MORE IT STRENGTHENS YOUR JAW MUSCLES! SO, I ADDED EXTRA CORN STARCH TO THE RECIPE AND COOKED IT UNTIL I COULDN'T PUSH A SPOON TO THE BOTTOM OF THE PAN!!!"

  
"Oh." You have no idea where to even start disputing that. There are just so many things wrong there. "How, uhm, how much corn starch did you use?"

  
"WELL, I DIDN'T EXACTLY MEASURE... I JUST USED WHAT I HAD LEFT IN THE BOX!" Which, you suspect, was probably mostly full. "OH, HOW I WISH THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAD MEASURED!! NOW I CANNOT SHARE THE RECIPE WITH MY DEAR FRIEND, EVEN THOUGH YOU ADMIRE IT SO!!!" He does that melodramatic cursing-the-sky thing again.

  
"Well, actually, Papyrus... I'm sorry, but I can't eat this."

  
The room goes deathly still and quiet. Frisk has frozen mid-bite; the lights in Sans' eyes go noticeably dimmer. Papyrus's face begins to fall in slow motion. You grasp at the first excuse you can think of.

  
"I'm a-allergic to corn starch."

  
Sans sits back in his chair with a hand over his eyes. Frisk scoffs incredulously at you.

  
**"OHMYGOD!!!"** Papyrus shrieks so loud, your sure it could have been heard out in the Aboveground. He snatches your plate away from you so fast, the force flings most of the spaghetti over his shoulder, where it splats against the wall. "I AM SO! SORRY! CHARA PLEASE DON'T DIEEEEE!!! NYOO HOO HOO!!!"

  
"Papyrus!" you holler over his agonized bawling, "I'm fine, buddy, really." He quiets some, but he's still moaning pitifully into his mittens. "I won't die if I eat corn starch, I just break out in hives," you lie smoothly now that you've got the ball rolling. "A little bit is usually ok, but the more I eat, the worse I get."

  
"THA-THAT'S WHY YOU WANTED T-T-TO KNOW HOW MUCH I USED..." Papyrus hiccups. You nod and his expression brightens. "IN THAT CASE, I SHALL MAKE YOU A NEW BATCH, WITHOUT CORN STARCH!! IT WILL NOT HAVE THE SAME MUSCLE-SCULPTING PROPERTIES, BUT-"

  
He starts to stand and you practically dive across the table to shove him back down into his chair.

  
" _NO!!_ Ahem, I mean, haha no, that's ok, friend. Please, you've already done far too much for me today. Please, _please_ , allow me to make my own spaghetti! You, uh, deserve a break!!" You're not quite pleading, but let's be real, you totally are. You don't know what other ways Papyrus might come up with to ruin spaghetti, but you know you don't want to find out the hard way.

  
He scratches at the side of his head, hesitant. "ARE YOU SURE YOU DON'T WANT ME TO-"

  
"Yeah, yes, I'm sure! It's no trouble. I love to cook, hahaha!" You skirt around the table as quickly as you can, placing yourself between him and the counter so he can't push his chair out. "Pans are in here, right?"

  
You have the water for fresh noodles waiting on the back burner and some unseasoned tomato sauce heating up in no time. Frisk is dutifully picking away at their congealed lump of pasta, Sans is nodding off again in his seat, and Papyrus is pensively watching you work in silence. It's only when you're rifling through the spice rack that he speaks.

 

"UM, CHARA HUMAN? MAY I ASK YOU A QUESTION?"

  
"Hmm?"

  
"YOU MENTIONED EARLIER THAT YOU AND THE FRISK HUMAN DO NOT HAVE A FATHER." You glance over your shoulder. Frisk stopped eating again and is watching Papyrus. Sans is fully awake and staring at his slippers. Papyrus looks apologetic, like he's afraid to bring up painful memories but his curiosity finally got the better of him. "CAN I... ASK WHAT HAPPENED?"

  
"Well," you say, turning back to the spices, "I'm not really sure. I don't remember anything about either of my birth parents. I heard Frisk's case worker say one time that the cops took Frisk away from their parents when they were a baby, but I don't know anything about them, either."

  
Papyrus shifts behind you and you answer the question you're sure he's about to ask. "Frisk and I aren't blood siblings. We live in the same foster home." You wonder if the Underground has a foster care system, and then vehemently hope they don't need one. "We've been there together for almost four years. Uhm, Papyrus, I'm actually not trying to make a pun here, but you're almost out of thyme."

  
"maybe he _mint_ to pick up some more, but it isn't in _season_."

  
"SANS!!"

  
"whoa, calm down, bro, it's not that big of a _dill_."

  
"STOP!!"

  
Laughing in spite of yourself, you gather up the garlic, oregano, and basil you need and start adding them to your sauce. Measuring spices was never really your thing, you just eyeball it and make sure to taste test often.

  
"SO..." Papyrus says after a few minutes. "YOU TWO HAVE HUMAN GUARDIANS WHO ARE FRETFULLY AWAITING YOUR RETURN TO THE ABOVEGROUND?"

  
"I don't know about 'fretfully' awaiting. Our foster parents don't care about us _that_ much... They're just- they're not very nice people." There's a pregnant pause and then Papyrus gasps. You turn to look at him and catch Frisk hastily shoving their hands under the table.

  
Oh, shit, what did they say?! Sans is watching your face intently and Papyrus is staring at your arm with an uncharacteristically grim expression and you feel the bottom drop out of your stomach. You try to cover the bruises with your hand, but it just makes the fact that they're a hand print that much more obvious.

  
You whirl back to the stove, humiliated, and concentrate on making your food. Maybe you put a little too much force into your motions, and maybe your shaky hands spill some oregano here and some water there, but thankfully nobody says anything further and your food is ready before long.

  
Forcing a smile that probably looks more like a crack in a tombstone, you face the rest of the kitchen. Papyrus and Frisk are frowning into the middle distance and chewing at their fingernails, respectively. Neither one looks directly at you, which is just as well, because you wouldn't be able to meet their eyes, either. Sans has vanished entirely.

  
"Do you want some more sketti, Frisk?" you offer. Their plate is empty; suspiciously so, in fact. Papyrus gave them way too much for even an adult to eat, and certainly not in such a short time. You might have to check under the table to make sure they didn't dump it on the floor when nobody was looking.

  
_"Yes, please,"_ they sign.

  
"How about you, Papyrus?" He never made himself a plate of his own cooking, come to think of it. Do skeletons even eat, anyway? You haven't seen either of them eat anything yet, so _can_ they? It doesn't seem physically possible to you, but, y'know. Magic. You've already decided the Underground is where logic comes to die.

  
"OH! ER, I SUPPOSE? AS YOU KNOW, MY PASTA PALETTE IS INCREDIBLY REFINED. DO NOT BE SAD IF YOU CANNOT MATCH MY LEVEL OF SOPHISTICATION." But the distress in his voice contradicts his cocky words.

  
"Yeah, yeah, you're a real _bone_ vivant," you wisecrack, trying to lighten the mood.

  
His neck vertebrae creak as he turns slowly to boggle at you in disbelief. "I CHANGED MY MIND!!! I'M NOT HUNGRY ANYMORE!!"

  
You dish up two plates and bring them to the table, stealing Sans' seat so you don't have to be mashed up against the sink. Frisk starts wolfing their food down with gusto. The silence is companionable, if a little awkward, until you catch Papyrus eyeing you and swiftly glancing away.

  
You set your fork down and clear your throat. "Something on your mind, bro?" you ask mildly, hoping he's not going to ask more questions about stuff you don't want to discuss.

  
He jumps in his seat and sweat pops out on his forehead, like he's genuinely surprised that you noticed him watching you, even though he was hardly being subtle. "UM!! WELL, I, UH. I ADMIT, I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN HONEST WHEN I SAID I DIDN'T WANT TO TRY ANY OF YOUR SPAGHETTI! I AM VERY CURIOUS AND IT DOES SMELL DELICIOUS..."

  
He barely completes the sentence before Frisk holds their fork out to him, a huge wad of noodles coiled around the tines. Papyrus takes the offered utensil with a muttered "THANKS!" and examines it closely, murmuring to himself about the bouquet of the noodles, how the pale color of the spaghetti blends smoothly with the rich, deep reds of the sauce. You and Frisk look at each other and both of you roll your eyes, but his antics make you smile. Finally, he places the pasta in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

  
You go back to eating but then realize after several minutes that Papyrus has gone stock-still. There are fat tears brimming from his eyesockets and his hands shake so hard the fork rattles between his finger bones.

  
"Papyr-" you begin, concerned, but he suddenly launches himself to his feet, bumping the table hard, howling mostly incomprehensible gibberish at a deafening volume. You think you catch words like 'ambrosial' and 'artiste' and 'slipshod' but it's hard to tell with your fingers stuffed into your ears.

  
Papyrus lunges across the table to smoosh your face between his mittens. "HOOOWWWWWWW????"

  
"Wha're you 'alking a'ou' 'a'yrush??" you try to ask, but you can't move your mouth enough to talk right. It doesn't seem to matter, because he's already begging you for your 'spaghetti virtuoso secrets' and you pry his hands away, gentle but firm.

  
"Papyrus, calm your bone tiddies, dude! I don't have 'secrets,' I just used to work at a restaurant and they taught me how to make a few kinds of pasta." Truth be told, you don't think you did very well with the sauce this time, either. You didn't have any ground beef to add in, and it came out a little too garlic-heavy and acidic.

  
There are stars twinkling in Papyrus' eyesockets, alongside his tears. "THERE ARE HUMAN RESTAURANTS ON THE SURFACE THAT WILL LET YOU LEARN HOW TO MAKE TRANSCENDENT SPAGHETTI?!!"

  
"Well, actually, I _had_ to learn to make spaghetti, and they paid me to pretty much stand around making spaghetti all day. And, like, lasagna and stuff."

  
Papyrus collapses back into his chair, making a long sound like air leaking from a beach ball. He just... stares blankly with this kinda... creepy, blissed-out expression on his face and you're... just gonna leave him to it, you guess? So you sit down, ignore Frisk's hoarse chuckles, and finish your dinner.

  
Except, when you're done and you've cleaned up your mess and dishes, Papyrus is still zoned out and you need to know where you're sleeping. It takes you promising to give him advice and protips until he can make spaghetti as well as you before he snaps out of his trance and fetches you some pillows and covers. He sets you and Frisk up on the livingroom couch.

  
Once the house is dark and quiet, and Frisk is securely cuddled up in your arms under a warm quilt, you start dozing with little hesitation. You normally don't sleep well in unfamiliar places, but you're just too exhausted for anxious insomnia tonight.

  
"G'night, Frisk, love you..." you mumble as you drop off.

  
They yawn, snuggle into your chest, and count your breaths as they steady and slow. The tension that is always there, stiffening their little shoulders and creasing their young brow, drains away and they feel safe for the first time in a long time, finally surrounded by their true family. Even if it has a little... infighting here and there. Things will be alright in due time. They'll make sure of it. They're filled with Determination.

  
"Love you too, Chara," they whisper.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On the edge of a sterile white counter top in a room with hospital-blue walls, Sans sits swinging his slippers in tandem.

  
Scattered around him are manila folders too thin and printouts of experiment log entries too incomplete to be of much use. Most of them were written using symbols no other living monster can read anymore. All of them, in one way or another, either directly or indirectly, are about you.

  
Or, that's his theory, at least.

  
Sans has read through every one of these notes, records, and blueprints so many times that he sees them in his dreams often, as clear as if he had the real copies in his hands. He picks up a file folder and knows just from the way the plastic label tape curls up at one corner that it contains two pages of incomprehensible sensor readings taken of a sample of something called 'DTMN_Dist.' and one instant film photograph of a child.

  
He doesn't need to bring the photo out to see every detail, it's all there in his mind's eye, but he does anyway. The edges of the picture are fuzzed and worn from frequent handling, and what looks like a black smudge is seared into the image. Sans knows that the scorch mark is part of the image itself and not physical damage to the photograph.

  
The soles of his slippers make a smacking sound that echoes in the silent workshop when he hops down from the counter and shuffles over to the hulking shape in the corner. He brushes a hand over the sheet that covers the Machine but otherwise leaves it be. Nothing he ever does to the old hunk of junk makes the slightest difference. It doesn't work.

  
It's not broken. At least, not according to the incomplete blueprints Sans has. Looking at it gives him the feeling that it's awaiting something, on standby until some key component or command is supplied. A hibernating behemoth of unfathomable potential. Thinking about the incalculable number of functions it could possibly have makes him want to take a nap instead.

  
Whatever the thing _does_ , it _doesn't_ right now. And that's all any living monster can say about it. Anyone who knew what it was for is dead or gone. Except, perhaps...

  
Sans holds the photograph up and the astringent fluorescent light angles over it. "Your" rust-brown eyes gaze back at him. "You" are a couple years older than Frisk, wearing a striped shirt like all children. "You" stand in front of the Machine, "your" expression bored, cold.

  
But, is this really you? _Can_ it be?

  
And what happens if it _is_ you? Sans has been wavering between resolving to kill you and wanting to grill you for more information. There's just so much he doesn't know, and he's never actually _wanted_ to kill anyone before, but...

  
He glances around his workshop at the random assortment of documents he's collected over the years and sighs. Well, he isn't about to find answers to any of his questions in them tonight. He slips the photograph back into its folder.

  
Too tired to bother putting anything else away, Sans teleports into the main house. The lights are off and it's dark, which has never bothered him much, and he can hear deep, even breathing on the couch.

  
You seem to have tossed your blanket most of the way off yourself, and most of it is piled up on the small lump that has to be Frisk. You're still wearing Sans' old sweatpants - he makes a mental note to throw them out later - and Papyrus' jersey from his short-lived high school basketball career. One of your legs dangles off the edge of the couch and it seems like the rest of you might follow suit if your weight shifts that direction any more.

  
It would be so easy to kill you right now. All it would take is one solid knock to your thin human skull; you'd never see it coming, never be able to dodge it.

  
But then you wince and give a tiny, pained cry in your sleep when you shift and try to pillow your arm behind your head. The jersey rides up a bit more than it had already and the ugly, angry bruises underneath peek out. You said they were caused by a monster in the Underground, but the hand print on your bicep was clearly made by a large human hand, and...

  
Sans feels an unwelcome pang of compassion for you. What Frisk said earlier, when your back was turned...

  
He huffs, a little angry with himself.

  
Why does this have to be such a moral dilemma? It would be so much easier for him to figure out how to deal with you if you didn't seem to be just as much of a victim as he is.

  
Sans' slippers are silent on the carpet as he shuffles closer, intending to get a better look at your face. He's not sure what he hopes he'll see; whether he wants to find some tiny characteristic that will prove that you aren't the child in the photograph, or one that will confirm his suspicions and drive the last nail into your coffin. He honestly doesn't know.

  
His foot bumps against something lying on the floor, and he picks it up. Your backpack fell over at some point and some of the contents spilled out. He finds himself holding a bottle of lotion, and is about to put it back when a message, handwritten on the side in black marker, catches his eye.

  
**_This loTion bElongs to Chara. plEasE don'T jack iT._ :P**

  
The bark of involuntary laughter that bursts out of him is as loud as an explosion in the quiet house, and he's just as startled as you are. He blinks to the safety of his room the very instant before you jerk awake, and your sleep-addled brain is left to puzzle over the bottle of lotion that thumps to the ground from seemingly nowhere.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to rainydaze13/puddingncustardcat for beta-ing for me. I love and appreciate you, and thanks for your patience. 
> 
> Seriously, this chapter was so long it was giving me anxiety every time I realized I'd written another 1k words and wasn't near the end.


	7. Hot Dish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to have a lot more stuff in it, but I decided to split it in two halves so I could update sooner. This shitpile still ended up being more than 4k words tho. :/ 
> 
> I have no self control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protip: I know how to use span titles so if you never mouse over any of my text, you may be missing out *audible wink*. Mostly, I just insert like definitions of technical terms and stuff, but I might also use them to explain my more incomprehensible jokes or to hide extra jokes that I couldn't figure out how to shoehorn into the story.

 

 

  
It's far too early in the morning when Frisk shakes you awake. They've always been an early riser, but this is ridiculous. You feel like you've only just fallen asleep.

 

"Nnnngh... What time 's it?" you groan, cracking one eye to see their response. Oh, it's not as early as you thought. They let you sleep in and it's just leftover fatigue that's making it seem like it's still the wee hours of the morning.

 

Frisk tugs on your arm some more. _"Get up and make breakfast,"_ they sign, tacking on a _"please"_ when you arch an eyebrow at the demand. You heave sighs all through the process of untangling yourself from the blanket, rolling off the couch, and walking to the kitchen, each gustier and more theatrical than the last.

 

Papyrus is sitting at the card table when you reach the kitchen, tapping and swiping away at your tablet. There's brass band swing music playing, but it's clear from the frustrated look on his face that he's still not having any luck. A few odds and ends are on the table, a twig, some silverware, a plastic drinking straw, which you figure must have been failed attempts to find a makeshift stylus for him to use. Frisk hops into the chair pulled up close alongside him.

 

"Ok, you knuckleheads dragged me out of a perfectly good sleep to make you breakfast. What do you want to eat?" Papyrus gives you a puzzled look, like the answer should be obvious, during which Frisk snags the tablet out of his hands and fiddles with it. "And don't even say spaghetti. Humans have dietary needs and pasta for every meal ain't gonna cut it."

 

You scoot around the table and chairs to the refrigerator and take a look inside. Aside from plastic containers of leftover spaghetti and sauce, there's not much else. You pull out a mostly-full carton of eggs and a small jug of milk that's still a week away from it's expiration date.

 

"Whose are these?" you ask Papyrus.

 

He looks at them like he's never seen them before. "PERHAPS THEY BELONG TO MY BROTHER?? HE WAS MAKING A SORT OF STRANGE QUICHE-LIKE DISH SOME TIME AGO! THEY MAY BE LEFT OVER FROM THAT?"

 

"Ok, cool. How about scrambled eggs or omelettes, then?" You'll use this stuff and if Sans doesn't like it, you'll be happy to tell him where he can cram it.

 

Frisk hums quietly and signs, _"Waffles?"_ with big, hopeful eyes.

 

You certainly don't see why not. At least, not until you've hunted down and rounded up the flour, sugar, and baking powder, but you have yet to find the most important component.

 

"Papyrus, do you have a waffle iron?"

 

He furrows his brows like he barely even knows what that is. "NO...?? I DO NOT THINK SO???"

 

Crap. You should have known. "How about pancakes, instead?" You remember the candy in your backpack. "Ooo! How about _chocolate chip_ pancakes?!" Frisk's face lights up like Christmas morning and they bounce in their seat, head nodding so hard their hair ends up sticking out in all directions like a downy cloud.

 

You assume you're not going to find any maple syrup in this house, so you make another sweep of the cabinets and come up with some brown sugar that has long since hardened into a brick. After crushing some up as fine as you can, you set it to boil in a little pan of water and retrieve a couple handfuls of fun-size chocolate bars from your pack so you can unwrap them and chop them up.

 

You're pouring pancake batter into the skillet and the brown sugar syrup is thickening nicely by the time Sans shuffles into the kitchen. He makes sure to hip check you against the stove when he passes by, and you make sure to smear some batter on his hoodie in return. Frisk throws a drinking straw at him with an irritated huff; he shrugs nonchalantly like he wasn't starting shit and flops into a chair.

 

"SANS!!" Papyrus barks, "STOP ANTAGONIZING OUR GUESTS AND HELP ME FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE THIS CONFOUNDED GADGET WORK!!!" He slides your tablet across the table. "HERE, TRY YOUR HAND AT IT!!"

 

Sans chuckles, delighted at his brother's inadvertent double entendre and the subsequent look of dawning horror on his face as Papyrus realizes what he said, and wiggles his bony fingers. "i guess i can lend a _hand_. my science background should mean i'm an _old hand_ at working with technology. i'm sure i can _hand_ le it. science and gadgets DO go _hand in hand_ -"

 

"SANS, STOP!!! NO MORE, PLEASE!!" Papyrus squawks, banging his skull against the tabletop hard enough to make the silverware jump.

 

It does your heart a world of good to see that self-assured grin gradually slide off of Sans' face as his swipes and prods at your tablet's screen have no effect. Nobody ever told him specifically why Papyrus can't use it, you guess, and now he's running into the same problem himself.

 

You place Frisk's pancake, nearly as big as the plate and swimming in syrup, in front of them. You normally save rich, sugary breakfasts like this for birthdays and holidays, but they worked their tiny butt off yesterday. They've more than earned the empty calories.

 

"Hold on, maybe there's an accessibility setting or something I can change," you suggest. You don't bother to take your tablet from Sans, you just lean sideways into his personal space and deftly tap and slide your way around the menus with ease while he's still holding it. His irritated fidgeting gives you life. "Hnn, nope. Nevermind, then. Carry on."

 

Glaring at you, Sans holds up a finger and blue magic sparks in his eyesocket. You try to leap backwards in alarm but there's no room, so you trip and end up mostly in Papyrus' lap, clinging to his armor like a terrified cat. Papyrus yelps but takes the surprise hug in stride, patting your shoulder blades good-naturedly.

 

That smug look is back on Sans' face full-force, but instead of directing his magic at you, he manifests a small smudge of blue energy at the end of his finger. Before you can protest, he swipes it across your tablet's screen and, to your amazement, it responds to the gesture. You stand again and cautiously lean closer.

 

"Magic fingertip?" you murmur. "Well, I'll be damned..."

 

Sans scoffs under his breath. "you're not already? coulda fooled me..." Frisk throws a twig at him, hitting him upside the temple.

 

"What the fuck ever, dude," you growl, nettled. Frisk swats your elbow and you're infinitely grateful neither of you thought to grab the Swear Jar when you left. "Just hurry up and make a playlist so we can recommend songs you'll like." You flap your hand dismissively in his face and move back over to the stove to make more pancakes. "You've already started a playlist for Papyrus, right Frisk?" They nod, their cheeks stuffed to bulging, and give a thumbs-up. "Good, already one step ahead. That's the kind of initiative I like to see from my copilot." You shoot them finger pistols and wink approvingly.

 

"it's pretty astonishing that you think you can tell what i might like," Sans snarks. "you don't know me like that, _bucko_." Oh, shit, looks like that made him a little mad. Ha, what a loser! He actually thinks he's mysterious or some shit?

 

You lean your hip against the stove, cross your arms, and level a stare at him, your eyes slowly narrowing. He slouches and sweats under your scrutiny, obviously trying to appear aloof and failing miserably. " _Mississippi Squirrel Revival, Dumb Ways to Die,_ and _Sitting in a Bar_ by Rehab," you finally say, and then turn back to your cooking, leaving him spluttering.

 

"w-what the...?"

 

"Songs you'll like," you declare and repeat the titles slowly. "Let's see, what are some more..." Frisk knocks on the table and sticks their fork in their mouth so they can sign when they have your attention. "Oh, _Monster Mash_! Haha, nice one, Squirt! And _Bad to the Bone_ , too? They're both puns! Ummm, _First Baptist Bar and_ -"

 

Sans slams his hands down on the tabletop with a bang, furious, and surges out of his chair. "knock it off, RIGHT NOW!" he bellows, his deep voice rattling the dishes in the cabinets. Papyrus and Frisk goggle at him, their eyes wide with shock. He seems to immediately regret his outburst, blushing blue and making a noise like he's clearing a throat he doesn't have. "i mean, uh, whatever. i've gotta _shift_ or else i'll be late for work. deuces."

 

An awkward silence hangs in the air after he shuffles out, smiling in a way that you think doesn't reach his eyes. It occurs to you that you have probably never seen a genuine smile on his face, ever. There's no sound of the front door opening or closing, but you feel that he's gone.

 

"Well, that was..." you mumble.

 

"INDEED," Papyrus agrees.

 

"...Wait, did he take my tablet with him?"

 

"YES, IT SEEMS HE DID."

 

There's another long beat of silence.

 

Your mouth twitches into a grin. "He's totally gonna listen to those songs, isn't he?"

 

Frisk coughs a laugh. _"Definitely."_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
Permafrost crunches satisfyingly under your boots as you wander around Snowdin. The air is cold and still, and fresh flakes of snow drift lazily down from the cloudless cavern roof high above. No matter how much you ponder the existence of snowfall in an underground cave, you can't come up with an explanation that makes sense without the inclusion of magic and a heavy suspension of disbelief. You'd stopped really thinking about it hours ago.

 

Papyrus took off right after breakfast to reevaluate his traps and puzzles, dragging Frisk along with him to act as his adviser. He claimed that the best authority on capturing humans would obviously be other humans and he'd almost managed to rope you into helping too, but you managed to convince him that the errands you needed to run today were of the utmost importance.

 

You made sure to get his phone number before they left though, in case of emergencies, and maybe you surreptitiously peeked at Sans' number over Papyrus' shoulder while you had the opportunity. It's saved to your contacts under _'numbskull'_ for, y'know, pranking purposes. Sans seems like the kind of guy whose life might benefit from a few dozen good, old-fashioned Cat Facts.

 

Your errands had gone smoothly; your school stuff and extra junk is all safely stored away in the Dimensional Box, and you'd spent at least three solid hours skimming through every book related to monster magic and humans souls and the history of the Underground that the LIBRARBY had on its shelves. There's no telling how many more pitfalls and dangers you and Frisk are going to have to face to get home, but with your luck, you assume it'll be something like a shitload. And forewarned is forearmed, or so you've heard.

 

Now that you're a little more informed, you guess you're glad you didn't give in to the urge to hit Sans yesterday. Apparently, harming a monster is all about intent and in that moment, you're pretty sure you would have meant business. You don't know how much damage he can take, but now you suppose the satisfaction of punching the daylights out of that smirking face isn't worth a murder rap, anyway.

 

You're just waving to the friendly star-shaped monster atop Snowdin's Gyftmas tree (yes, turns out the star is a monster and they're very sweet and they don't actually belong on the tree per se, but they love hanging out up there and teaching tourists all about Gyftmas) when the smell of frying meat wafts past and your stomach gives a mighty rumble.

 

Oh, hot damn, what you wouldn't give for a burger and some fries right now. And really, since you didn't have to pay for a bed at the inn last night, you do have a little gold in your pocket. Maybe you can afford to grab a bite?

 

You find yourself inside Grillby's before you can think better of it. You're still not really sure how pricing works in the Underground. That room at the inn only costs as much as like three cinnamon rolls, which either means that lodging is ridiculously cheap here, or food is ridiculously expensive. There's no telling how much gold you might need for a whole meal, even at a smalltown dive like this.

 

Turns out you needn't have worried. You have just enough (the poor kid in you weeps at spending nearly all your money) for two burgers and two orders of fries. The fire elemental behind the bar, the titular Grillby, takes your order without a single word and disappears into the back.

 

You lean back on your elbows against the bar and have a good look around. The decor is all wood and leather, scarred and worn and dark with age and, you presume, smoke. The air is hazy and smells like a bonfire.

 

There are several monsters hanging about. A horse-like monster with sunglasses and a cool leather jacket is nursing a drink at one end of the bar and a fish monster and a bird monster squabble quietly at the other. What looks like a venus flytrap with cartoonishly huge teeth is munching noisily on french fries at the booth nearby.

 

You recognize the Guard dogs from Snowdin Road and most of them recognize you, too; The Dogi sniff in your direction and excitedly whuffle to each other about weird puppies while Greater Dog casts longing looks your way, tongue lolling and eyes silently begging for pets. Ehhhh, you're not really feeling up to it right now. Frisk isn't here to provide moral support and, truth be told, you've always been kinda scared of dogs in general, ever since one bit you when you were a kid. You wave to them - Doggo jumps, startled, at the movement - but you don't join their group.

 

"Hey, yoo-hoo! Sweetie, over here~ Psssht!" calls a voice in a stage whisper, and you spot a rabbit-like monster with spirals for eyes leaning into your field of vision from a booth near the door. They smile when you notice them and curl one long ear to beckon you over. "Come here and sit with me, honey~" they coo, "No need to be shy, I just wannu talk."

 

You scuff the toe of your boot against the floor bashfully, but then shrug and make your way over, sliding into the seat across from them. Aw, why the hell not? It's something to do while you wait for your food.

 

"So, I never sssaw you before, you new in town?" the bunny slurs, and up close, they smell like a distillery. You realize that they're drunk as a skunk. And also that they're not sitting with their head resting on the table like you first thought. They are literally just a head, perched on the table in front of you.

 

"Yeah, you could say that. Me and my sibling are passing through," you tell them, not really sure how much you want to reveal. So far, everyone in Snowdin you've spoken to, aside from the skeletons, has just assumed you and Frisk were monsters. You don't want to accidentally say the wrong thing and give yourself away or else you might have the whole town howling for your blood.

 

The rabbit (you've started calling them Spiral Bunny in your head) nods sagely, like you've simply confirmed something they already knew.

 

"You're headed to Wadderfall next, then." Their inflection makes it a statement. "My cussin Ivy owns Snowed Inn and she says you'n your sibling are crashin' with Sansy and his brother~" Spiral Bunny sing-songs. "What's _that_ like?"

 

You were marveling at how fast news spreads in Snowdin so the question throws you for a loop and you blink, confused. "What's what like?"

 

"Shacking up with Sansy," they giggle and give you a broad, conspiratorial wink. "He's only _the_ hottest guy in town. Well, 'sides from Grillby, but he's made 'a fire, so he dozen count. So c'mon, dish. Have you seen his bedroom? What does he smell like~?"

 

You're speechless for a second, and then you just can't help but burst out laughing. Sans is hot, huh? Ok, whatever, to each their own, you're not gonna judge. And here you thought you were gonna be dodging a bunch of dangerous questions that could risk outing you as a human, but instead it's just harmless gossip.

 

"Pffft... Nah, I haven't seen his room and he smells like bones and ketchup, I guess?? But no, it's nothing like that." You wave a hand to dispel the idea that there could ever be anything going on between you and Sans. "I think he and I got off on the wrong foot somehow. We do not get along, like at all. Me and Frisk are just couch surfing for a couple nights because Papyrus insisted."

 

"Aw, too bad," Spiral Bunny hums in genuinely misplaced sympathy. They use their ear to nudge the straw in their drink closer to their mouth and take a long, thoughtful sip while gazing at you soulfully. Or, you think they are; it's kinda hard to read those spiral eyes.

 

"Can't 'magine our Sansy dishliking anybody for no reason. Maybe 'f you told some jokes and puns...?" they muse aloud around their straw. The way their sibilant S's whistle over the end of it like somebody blowing over the neck of a bottle makes you smile.

 

You shrug, not particularly invested in winning the jackass over. "I've made a _ton_ of jokes around him, even though I'm not usually that big into puns. But that shit's contagious, y'know? Once he starts, I can't help but join in."

 

"Oh, yeah, I know whatcha mean," they chuckle and list drunkenly to the side, like they're rolling on shoulders they don't have. "Maybe if you laugh at his jokes more, or some'ing."

 

"The world may never know," you reply blithely and wave your hand dismissively again. "Sometimes people are like fire and water. They just don't mix."

 

Spiral Bunny makes a skeptical sound and pushes themself upright with their ear. "Say, speakin' a fire and water, you should talk ta Grillby 'bout his dishes if you got some free time."

 

Aaaaand now they've lost you.

 

You're about to ask what they mean but at that moment, Grillby himself appears beside the booth, two plates of food in his hands. With the fire elemental standing so close, you're suddenly sweltering inside your thick coat, so you shuck it as he sets your order on the table.

 

"'Ey, Hot Stuff, you shtill need a dishwasher, yeh? My friend here says they might be inner'sted in a lil spendin' cash," Spiral Bunny half-sings and you pull a face because you said no such thing.

 

Grillby cants his head down to - you believe - look at you over the rims of his glasses, and maybe he's doing something like arching an eyebrow. It's pretty much impossible to tell, visually. His face is just featureless flames. But you almost feel... something. A heightened attentiveness? Like when you know your phone is about to ring and you're waiting for it with bated breath.

 

Well, it wouldn't hurt to have some money when you and Frisk head into Waterfall. You're just about broke. "Uh, yeah, sure. I guess I'd be willing to do a little side work while I'm in town," you say, squinting a bit against the light as you try to make out any sort of expression change from him.

 

You don't succeed, but he does tap his chin with one hand and shift his weight like he's considering it, and that feeling of anticipation comes back stronger. You feel like he's juuuuuust about to start talking about how his last dishwasher moved to New Home and how he needs somebody who can safely handle water to help him with the growing mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

 

"Grillby says he needs help with the hugeass _mooooouuuntain_ of dishes in the kisshen, on accounta the last guy moved ta New Home," Spiral Bunny explains. "Oh, and he says you gotta be able to handle water. Grillbz doesn't touch the stuff." They wink at you like it's an old inside joke and you'll bet dollars to dog turds that you know where they heard it.

 

You glance at the wall clock. Frisk might not be back from the woods for a couple hours, but you still want to eat and explore some more today. "I can come back early tomorrow," you suggest. "I can probably get my sibling to help out, too, but I can't make any promises."

 

Grillby holds up two fingers, tiny gouts of fire at the tips like matchsticks, and you know before Spiral Bunny translates for him that he is offering you each 200g an hour for your work. You wonder if maybe your experience conversing with a nonverbal child makes it easier for you to understand when he... does whatever he's doing to communicate. Telepathy or something?

 

You accept his offer and thank him for the job.

 

Satisfied with the arrangement, Grillby crosses his arms over his chest, and you feel like you have to disagree with your fine, furry friend here. Grillby certainly _does_ count as hot, all fire puns aside. He might not have facial features, but he sure does know how to fill out those shirtsleeves and slacks, if you do say so yourself. And those forearms, _dayum_.

 

You pick up your burger and take a bite to hide your lascivious smirk. And then you freeze mid-chew.

 

"O-oh my god..." you practically moan with your mouth full.

 

This is the best burger you've ever had in your entire life. Firm, springy, golden-brown bun. Crisp, fresh vegetables. Hearty, smooth melted cheese. Thick, crispy smoked bacon. Firm, juicy, fragrant patty... This burger has you damn near waxing poetic about a burger, that's how good it is.

 

"Ohmigod, Grillby. This is so good, I could just kiss you. Are you single? C'mon, please say you're single," you plead. You're only kinda joking.

 

His face flares bright blue like an acetylene torch, and Spiral Bunny howls with laughter and nearly rolls onto your plate.

 

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, babycakes~" they cackle gleefully while the flame elemental beats a hasty retreat to get you a to-go bag. "Grillby's got a fambly over in Hotland. Got a daughter your age."

 

"Fair enough, then," you chuckle, and shove some fries in your mouth.

 

Mmph! Oh, sweet newborn baby Jesus have mercy, those are beyond delicious, too. You can't imagine anyone ever defiling these fries with ketchup or anything else, ever. They're sublime. It would be unforgivable sacrilege.

 

You hang out and eat your lunch for about another hour, keeping up a lively conversation with Spiral Bunny. Whose name turns out to be Sassafras, once the two of you realize you'd never properly introduced yourselves. When you tell them your name they give you a strange look you can't parse, mutter something about your parents' sense of humor, and refer to you as 'Charry' from then on out.

 

They have a great deal to say about their desire to partake of Aboveground cuisine, and even more to say about Sans' supposed attractiveness. You offer some tidbits of information in the form of theories about the first subject, and mostly just smile and nod and tune out the second.

 

For some reason, you find it soothing to talk to someone who's calmly, cheerfully shitfaced. Like you could just say whatever and they'd roll with it. You're not just going to say whatever, of course. You have a cover to maintain. But still, you feel like you can crack racy jokes and pursue deep conversation topics without judgement or awkwardness.

 

Before you leave, you give Sassafras your number. They poke at the buttons on their phone with the tips of their ears. You don't try too hard to figure out where they carry it, but you do nearly slip up and wonder aloud whether your Aboveground phone will even work down here. Your thankfully unspoken question is answered when they send you a text so you have their number and the victory music from Final Fantasy plays in your pocket.

 

Full, warm, and smiling, you save them into your contacts as _'Frassy'_ and step out into the silently falling snowflakes.

 

 

 

 


	8. Barking up the Wrong Tree?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've created a new side blog dedicated to this fic, deadringerofficial.tumblr.com, where fanart, asks, and update announcements will be posted. 
> 
> And the very first post to christen it is [THIS BRILLIANT FANART](http://deadringerofficial.tumblr.com/post/138262501184/betraeyal-theres-several-seconds-of-silence) of the end of chapter 3 by tumblr user [betraeyal](http://betraeyal.tumblr.com/) (follow them, they make great art<3)

 

 

 

 

The snowfall has gotten heavier.  Large flakes flutter down around you, clinging gently to your hair and adding to the thick white blanket already covering the ground and rooftops.  There's no wind, as always, and you doubt that it has actually gotten colder, but the arctic chill is still a shock after the heat of the restaurant.  You pull your arms out of your sleeves to tuck them and your to-go bag of food against your torso for warmth.

 

You turn in place for a moment, considering your options.  To the east is just Papyrus' house and the road to Waterfall, but you're not ready to head to either of those places quite yet.  And you just came from the west before you stopped off for food, and you have nothing you need to go back that way for.  So, that leaves the path leading north.

 

There turns out to not be much to more to see up here.  The yards of the adorable houses are vacant, and while there is a wolf monster throwing gigantic blocks of ice into the river - and boy, is he ever swole - he looks too focused on his work to be bothered.

 

But there is a shallow outcropping of solid ground in a break in the trees along the water that has your name written all over it.  Or at least, it does as soon as you find a suitable stick.

 

Your first scribbles have filled in with fresh snow and you're just about ready to head back to the house by the time you notice how hard you're concentrating on the silence.  You're stooped over, scrawling a half-assed 's a n s' across the intentionally shitty cartoon of a coiled dog turd you've doodled next to a painstakingly flattering portrait of Papyrus, listening to the whisper of snowflakes sifting through the tree branches and perishing on the surface of the river.   _ssshhhhh....._

 

_ssssssssshhhh....._

 

A feeling of anticipation washes over you and the white noise is suddenly deafening.  Like when you were talking with Grillby, you can almost sense something... else layered underneath, hovering just on the edge of your perception.  Your entire body stills as you try to focus on it, strain your ears, try to push just a little...   _sssssssshhhhhhhh......_

 

_sssshhhssssss **stay determined, Chara... -hear me...?**_

 

A voice ghosts over the surface of your mind, toneless and fizzing with static.  It sounds muffled, like it's coming from the other side of a closed window.  Your legs and back tremble from holding your awkward crouched stance, but you don't dare move, don't dare disrupt this... whatever this is.  You scan the area with your eyes, careful not to turn your head, but there's nobody around.

 

"I can hear you," you breathe.  "Who are you?"

 

_sssssssshhhhhh.........._

 

_sshhhhhhsssssssssss......._

 

_ssssSSSSSSSSHHHmmm....  This doesn't appear to be working........ -standby to push intravenous Haloperidol on my mark..._

 

A chemical-laden saline taste floods your throat and nose and chokes you, knocking you the rest of the way to your knees in the snow.  You cough, desperate to clear your lungs, but there's nothing in them to hack up.  Your eyes water and you gag, but all that comes out is drool and bile.

 

_ssssssSS **SSHHHHHHHHHHHHZZZZZZZ.......**_

 

The droning buzz filling your head ramps up to agonizing.  A face, warped and distorted, with glowing pupils floating in inky black sockets, flashes across the inside of your eyelids.  You clutch at your scalp and drag in painful breaths.  The frigid air is like razor blades in your chest-

 

Your cell phone squirms in your pocket and you instinctively try to bolt away, but you slip and end up on your butt, kicking wildly at the snow instead.  Icy water slithers down the back of your pants, into your socks, and up your sleeves, shocking you back to your senses.  You shake yourself, then climb unsteadily to your feet and dig your phone out.

 

_UNKNOWN NUMBER_

_CALLING..._

 

The voice, the static, the weird atmosphere are all gone.  You feel like you're truly alone in the clearing again.  With shaking hands, you flip open your phone and hold it to your ear.

 

"H- hello...?"  Your voice is little more than a rasp.

 

"Hello!  Can I speak to G..."  The caller cuts themself off and you think you hear faint rustling in the background.  "...Wait a second.  Is this the wrong number?"  And then, absurdly, they burst into song.  "Oh it's the wrong number!  The wrong number song!  We're very very sorry that we got it wrong!  Oh it's the wrong number!  The wrong number song!  We're very very sorry that we got it wrong!"  

 

You're left staring out over the river, numbly listening to the dial tone for a long minute after the loud _Click_ of being hung up on.

 

The Grillby's bag lies on the ground where you dropped it.  You scoop it up and idly brush snow off of it, although the food inside is already stone cold, then stuff it in one of the cavernous pockets of your coat.  The seat of your pants and the insides of your boots are soaked; you don't even bother to knock the snow off of your clothes.  The damage has been done.

 

Your hands sting in the frosty air and your sleeve cuffs are soggy and you want nothing more than another scalding hot shower.  And maybe a warm hug from Frisk if your aching, poorly rewrapped ribs will take it.  You turn on your heel-

 

And crash directly into a solid body.

 

"CHRIST on a BIKE!!" you bark in surprise, stumbling backwards over your own feet and landing hard on your ass.  Before you can scramble away, you feel the rigid, leaden sensation of your Soul being engulfed in familiar magic and when it yanks free of your chest abruptly enough to make your ears pop, it's dark blue.

 

"hey, friend-o," Sans chuckles and winks at you.  "didn't really think sneaking up on you would work but...  looks like you _fell_ for it, after all."  There's an edge of disdain under what you're sure is fake amusement in his voice, and when he lifts you by your Soul, the movement is needlessly rough.

 

"Ha.  Ha.  It is to laugh," you grumble sarcastically, rubbing at your tailbone.  You stretch a foot out, but you can't quite brush the ground.  "Uh, thanks for helping me up and shit, but you wanna put me down now?"

 

His hand bobs side to side and your body follows the motion in midair.  There's a hard look in his single, glowing blue iris and you have the sick feeling that he's probably toying with you before he finishes what he started yesterday.  Whatever happened to not getting off on suffering?  Fuckin' liar.

 

"maybe i will...  maybe i won't.  first, we're gonna have a nice little chat.  i've got a few questions, and i think you're just the human to answer them, aren't you, **C h a r a ?** "  

 

Oh, fuck, you Do.  Not.  Like how he said your name.  It can't mean anything good when a monster growls.  You struggle and kick at the air to no effect.  "Put me down put me _down put me down!!_ " you cry out, but you rise higher instead.  You try to twist free, but all you manage to do is hang by your Soul at a more uncomfortable angle that makes your ribs throb.

 

"woah, there, kid," Sans calls, all mocking false sympathy.  "i'm gonna go out on a _limb_ and say maybe you want down."  He dumps you none-too-gently on a thick branch in a nearby tree and his magic releases.  Pissed off, you snatch your Soul back into your chest as soon as he lets go, as if that could keep him from grabbing you again.  "but i can't let you _leaf_ just yet."

 

You climb carefully to your feet and wrap your arms around the tree's trunk.  Looking around, you see that you're really not that high up; you could probably get down on your own, but you're on the lowest branch and it's still a good twenty-five or thirty feet to the ground.  If you did jump, you'd definitely hurt your ankles, and never mind what it would do to your chest.  

 

"Get me down from here," you command sternly.  Sans just grins and shrugs, and you pat your pockets, looking for something to throw.  All you have is Frisk's burger and your phone, and while you're pretty sure your phone could take the abuse, you don't want to accidentally lose it.

 

"i wanna know..." he pauses - for dramatic effect, you guess? - and seesaws from his heels to his toes, his hands casually in his pockets. "what's _up_ , buddy?"  You groan and audibly facepalm.

 

"Hard dicks and airplanes!" you snap, pitching your voice so it'll carry.  Maybe someone will hear your shouting and come to investigate.  Maybe he won't kill you if there's witnesses.  "There!  Question answered!  Now get me the fuck down, you boney blue butthole!!"

 

Sweat beads on Sans' cranium and his smile goes strained and brittle like you're making him uncomfortable with your language.  Good!  He's more than earned himself some discomfort.  You watch him pull a sock (??) out of his pocket and dab at his forehead.

 

"we're not done.  tell me, what do you know about a monster named gaster?"  His tone and posture go relaxed again, the picture of nonchalance, but the pinprick lights of his eyes bore into yours like lasers.

 

Ok, so he's serious about this question.  You don't know what he's trying to get at, but it might get you down safely if you take this seriously, too.  You search your memory.  You've met a lot of monsters in the Underground so far; you never caught most of their names, if individual Froggits and Ice Caps and whatnot have names.  'Gaster' almost rings a bell, but you think maybe that's because you used to play Minecraft and you always had trouble with Ghasts in the Nether...?

 

"The name doesn't sound familiar," you confess.  "Should I know them?"  

 

Sans cocks his head to the side, searching your face.  His eyes slide closed and he smiles placidly, sighs and shakes his head.  "y'know, kiddo..."

 

You yelp as you're jerked around fast enough to give you whiplash, dragged onto your tip toes and forced to lean precariously over empty space. You'd be shitting a brick if you had acrophobia, and even though you don't, your heart still pounds in your throat.  Having your Soul so unceremoniously ripped out of you for the second time makes your jaw muscles tighten like you've tasted lemon.  Apparently, that was not the answer he was looking for.

 

"nobody likes a liar," he chides.

 

"I'm not lying!!" you bleat.  This is such bullshit!  Why is he even doing this?  "I really don't know anything about anybody named Gaster!"  You strain to pull yourself back onto the solid branch.  You even plant a hand on your Soul - wow, holy shit, that's a fucking weird feeling - and try to push yourself upright and oh, god, that hurts like a bastard, OWWW!!  Not doing that anymore, Jesus!

 

Sans quirks a brow ridge at you, smirking ruthlessly.  "is that so?  because it seems like he knew an awful lot about you."

 

"What the fuck does _that_ even mean?!" you demand.  But then an idea occurs to you, and you pull out your phone.  "Actually, know what?  I don't give a rat's ass.  I'm calling Papyrus and I'm gonna tell him you're talking crazy and being a dick to me."

 

Sans face spasms and, aw yeah, now he's sweating bullets.  Didn't expect that, did he?  Looks like somebody's gonna be in a world of trouble.  But before he can get past the first horrified 'no, wait!,' footsteps come racing up the gravel path, and you both swivel your heads around to see who it is.

 

Frisk skids to a stop and glances between the two of you.  They look perplexed by what they're seeing at first, and then they must get the gist of the situation, because they leap at Sans and frantically shake his free arm. _"_

 

 _Why is Chara in a tree?  What are you doing?  Stop it!"_ they sign, humming tensely.

 

"If Frisk is back, that means Papyrus is nearby," you tell Sans with a sly smile and scroll pointedly through your saved contacts.

 

"you- you wouldn't," he says with a shaky chuckle. _"_

 

 _Bring them down, Sans!  Why are you being mean?"_ Frisk signs with jerky gestures, a frightened look on their tiny face.

 

His hand falls an inch and you're yanked the rest of the way off your feet to dangle in the air before he remembers himself and shoves you back onto your ass on the branch.  Then the blue magic drops away and your Soul is its own vibrant red again.  Except...  There's a wispy curl of black vapor rising off of it now.  God, what did he do, singe your Soul or someshit?!  The smoke quickly dissipates, but you cup your hands gingerly around the stylized heart and peer at it carefully, looking for damage.  The surface remains perfectly smooth and unmarked; you hesitantly drop your hands and it settles back into your chest.

 

But you're still stuck in this goddamn tree and Sans apparently isn't about to bring you to the ground if he's stopped using his telekinesis on you.  Something in you hardens at the thought of being stuck a moment longer.  Your insides burn with cold anger and you grind your teeth.

 

"Oh, hey, here's an idea!" you sneer ghoulishly as you climb to your feet again.  "I'll jump down!  And then I'll call Papyrus and you can explain to him why one of his best friends has two broken legs."

 

Frisk lets out a short screech and starts pummeling Sans' chest with their little fists, uttering stuttery chirps in distress.  They sloppily dash off _"no"_ and _"please"_ and _"stop"_ signs, desperately trying to get him to end this peacefully.

 

He shakes his head slowly.  "i don't believe you, kid.  you ain't got the _guts_ , heh heh..."  He winks, but his tone is doubtful and his grin trembles at the corners.  Frisk moans brokenly, because they know you; they know how you get when your determination is called into question like that.  They know how sometimes you'll disregard your own well-being when it comes to proving a point.

 

You draw yourself up to your full height - which isn't terribly impressive; you're short for your age - and glare down your nose.  Challenge accepted, motherfucker.  "Shows what you know, trashlord," you snarl, and step off without hesitation.

 

There's only a split second sensation of plummeting toward the earth, and you're certain you hear the words 'oh, shit!' over the wind rushing in your ears, before you jolt to a stop, held aloft by your Soul once more.  You suck in a gasp at the sharp pain in your bruised ribs and cough weakly as you're finally set on the ground.

 

Frisk is already there to grab at your coat, flipping back and forth between squeezing you and shaking you.  There are tears streaming down their face and they're sobbing silently.  You stroke their hair, immediately regretting putting them through this.

 

"I'm sorry, Frisk," you murmur, locking eyes with them.  "I didn't mean to scare you like that.  I just got so mad.  Please don't cry."  You palm their cheeks and wipe gently at their tears with your thumbs.

 

They knock your hands away with a grunt.   _"I'm not crying, I'm allergic to jerks!"_ they sign and swing a half-hearted slap at your face.  You lean away from it and look over their shoulder to where Sans is watching you warily.

 

"See what happens when you underestimate people?  You know nothing about me," you tell him, your voice cold.  "Don't you _ever_ assume you know what I will and won't do."

 

Frisk rounds on him, too, scooping up handfuls of snow to throw at him.  He side-steps first one snowball and then another, surprisingly agile for a monster so chubby and lazy, but they keep up a steady barrage that has him panting before long.  You turn to leave.

 

"Whelp...  I'm gonna head back to the house.  I got you dinner, Frisk, and I'll heat it up for you.  It'll be ready by the time you're done.  Have fun~"

 

"h- hey, buddy, you wanna call your sibling off?" Sans calls out.  You pause and look over your shoulder.  He's sweating and his eyesockets are wide and pleading.

 

You scoff unkindly and laugh.  "Pfft, nah.  Looks like you're _boned_ , my 'friend.'  It was _ice snowing_  you."  You wink at him - a taste of his own medicine - and add as an aside to Frisk, "Keep throwing, Squirt.  He can't dodge forever."

 

Your self preservation instincts finally kick in when they lob a snowball in your direction and you scuttle off down the path.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, goodness... What the hell is any of this? >:3 Also, I forgot how tall the trees in Snowdin are and perhaps overestimated a little.
> 
> The talented and lovely [Betraeyal](betraeyal.tumblr.com) has made some [ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS FANART](http://deadringerofficial.tumblr.com/post/138778636764/betraeyal-im-not-lying-you-bleat-this-is) for this chapter. Go check it out and follow them while you're at it for more kickass arts.<3  
>  
> 
> Thought prompt:  
> Sans at his sentry post in Waterfall, listening to a certain Rick Astley song on Chara's tablet. He accidentally toggled the repeat button an hour ago and doesn't know to make it stop playing this one song over and over. Finally, he gives up and pauses it so he can nap on the job without music. But... 
> 
> But he just can't get that _fucking_ song out of his head! It's not even that great of a song, but god, is it catchy as all hell. It doesn't help that the echo flower nearby keeps repeating three lines of the chorus again and again and again...
> 
> Eventually, he breaks down and _has_ to listen to it one more time. The fish guy laughs when he hears Sans start muttering the words under his breath.  
>  ;D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(:3 」∠)_
> 
> I decided to split this chapter back up after all because ~~it would end up way too long~~ I wanted to update when I tentatively promised to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Betraeyal](betraeyal.tumblr.com)(aloeplant) [MADE MORE ART](http://deadringerofficial.tumblr.com/post/138778636764/betraeyal-im-not-lying-you-bleat-this-is), this time of chapter 8!!!! Go now and gaze upon it in wonder, as we mere mortals are only rarely graced with such gifts. Go ahead, I'll wait here. (Also, you should follow them for more terrific arts!!) ((Also, you should read their Sans/Reader fic, _Burn_!! It's super interesting and good and maybe they will continue it <3))

 

 

 

Papyrus is banging around in the kitchen when you walk through the front door. You hang up your coat and pry off your wet boots so you won't track dirty water through the house, then go to join him. The card table and chairs are folded and leaning against the wall, and he's cooking - spaghetti again, obviously. He looks up from the pot of sauce he's vigorously stirring to greet you.

 

"AH, CHARA HUMAN!!" he yells. "YOU ARE JUST IN TIME! COME, MARVEL AT MY CULINARY GENIUS, FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE FOUND A BRILLIANT SOLUTION TO YOUR HEARTBREAKING ALLERGY DILEMMA!!!" He strikes a heroic pose, swinging his wooden spoon in a wide arc and painting a diagonal line of red splatters across the front of your shirt. And the wall and the ceiling.

 

Eurgh... Sigh. Oh well, who cares? Your shirt is already trashed again, anyway... You give him a patient smile. "Th- that's really great, Paps, but-"

 

He cuts you off with another swing of his spoon, striking another pose. You dodge most of the sauce this time by swiftly ducking behind the door frame. "INDEED IT _IS_ GREAT!" he's shouting when you peek around the corner. "FOR _I_ AM JUST THAT GREAT!! AND EVERYTHING I DO IS GREAT!!! NYEH HEH HEH!!!!"

 

Oh, to have that level of self-confidence... You dab a finger at one of the globs on your shirt experimentally. It's... oddly gritty? "Paps, listen, I-"

 

"NO NEED TO ASK FOR MY RECIPE, HUMAN!! I SHALL GLADLY SHARE MY TECHNIQUES WITH YOU, SINCE YOU HAVE BEEN SO GRACIOUS AS TO OFFER TO SHARE YOURS WITH ME!!!" He grabs you by the shoulder - jeez, his arms are long - and hauls you over to stand next to him in front of the stove, somehow managing to smear some sauce on your face. Or maybe it was already there. Who's even counting?

 

You look down into the pot of marinara- Or, wait, no, what are you looking at here? Whatever Papyrus is making is ~~kinda~~ red like spaghetti sauce, and it ~~mostly~~ smells like spaghetti sauce, but... The texture is all wrong; it almost looks like wet red sand. There's a circular rut in the surface where he pushed his spoon through and the rest is slowly oozing to fill it back in.

 

Last night, maybe you should have considered the ways Papyrus could come up with to ruin spaghetti, after all. Y'know, desensitize yourself to the absurdity by coming up with some yourself. Because you have a feeling whatever he's going to tell you will come as a shock and you are not prepared.

 

"BEHOLD," cue dramatic arm gestures, "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE SUBSTITUTED CORN STARCH WITH-" he pauses - ugg, you are so done with people who pause for dramatic effect today - "CEMENT!!!"

 

You stand motionless for a moment, then discreetly pinch the skin of your inner arm between your fingers. Ouch, ok, so you're not having a weird dream. "Uhhhhh," is all you say. Papyrus just beams at you, probably waiting to be praised for his... ingenuity?? "Uh, I'm sorry, whut?" you finally say.

 

"CEMENT!!" he cheerfully yells again.

 

"Right..." You clear your throat, trying to figure out what to say. "Um, Paps? Papyrus, my friend, my chum, my palhoncho... I dunno about monsters, but," you bite your lip, "Humans don't generally eat cement. Or, like, anything made primarily of tiny rocks."

 

"OH!!" He squints at you, tapping at his teeth with his spoon. "FOR... RELIGIOUS REASONS...??"

 

It takes every ounce of self control in you, and probably some that you're only borrowing from Future You, not to keel over and die on the spot. You school your features into something you hope is neutral. "No, Paps, because cement is considered an inedible substance and harmful to the human body when consumed."

 

His dazzling smile charges back, full force. "IS THAT ALL?! HUMANS MUST NOT UTILIZE FIRE MAGIC TO ITS FULL POTENTIAL!! FOR, YOU SEE, ANYTHING COOKED WITH FIRE MAGIC, EVEN INEDIBLE OBJECTS, BECOMES EDIBLE!! THAT'S BASIC SCIENCE!! IT'S HOW GLAMBURGERS ARE MADE!!!"

 

Oh. "Oh," you say. "O-of course."

 

You distantly listen to him ramble about his search for a way to preserve the jaw-strengthening quality of his food while 'PLAYING TO YOUR STAGGERING DIETARY WEAKNESSES, NYEH HEH' (ouch, wow, rude), but you're too busy pondering what could possibly be in a glamburger to retain much of what he says. You decide it's probably better to just let it go for now and make sure you never accidentally eat one in the future.

 

There's a brief pause in his oration for him to presumably take a breath, and you cut in before he can continue. "Oh, hey, but dude. Thanks for making me dinner, I'm sure it's the greatest, but I already ate."

 

Papyrus freezes mid-sweeping gesture. "WH- WHERE??" he squawks in a voice that tells you what he really means is 'WHY??'

 

He pulls a disgusted face (how?? how do the bones move like that???) when you tell him that you ate at Grillby's. You take it he's not a fan. You scamper away and come back with the to-go bag, flashing him an apologetic smile. "But if it's not too much trouble, could you help me reheat this?"

 

With some reluctance and a lot of revolted muttering, Papyrus walks you through operating his microwave. You notice that, like most other appliances you've come across so far, all the buttons on it say the same thing. When you were at Toriel's house, her refrigerator's temperature dial just said 'COLD' four times with no discernible difference between the settings, and the knobs on the washing machine upstairs are all simply labelled 'CLOTHES.' You puzzle over that oddity while you try to memorize the combination of 'SPAGHETTI' buttons Papyrus shows you.

 

The food looks just as nice when you dump it onto a plate as it did when it went into the bag, even after being stuffed into your coat pocket, jostled around, and maybe fallen on a little bit. Perhaps because it was made with fire magic? Your wet sleeves flap uncomfortably about your wrists while you work, so you roll them up past your elbows.

 

As you wait, watching the burger and fries revolving slowly through the glass microwave door, what Sans said to you earlier nags at you. He said this Gaster person knew a lot about you. _"Knew,"_ past tense. Somebody Sans used to know but doesn't anymore? Somebody who's dead, perhaps...?

 

"Ahem. Papyrus, can I... ask you something?"

 

He looks up from stirring his marinara. "OF COURSE!!! AS I HAVE STATED, ALL OF MY PASTA-CRAFTING TECHNIQUES ARE AT YOUR DISPOSAL!! I AM AN OPEN BOOK! AND THE BOOK IS ALL ABOUT SPAGHETTI!!! NYEH HEH HEH!!!"

 

"A-Actually, I just wanted to know..." You hesitate.

 

Sans was willing to go to pretty extreme lengths to get you to talk about Gaster; cornering you on the edge of town and threatening to drop you onto your face from high enough to break your neck. Hell, who's to say the staticky telepathic mindfuckery before that wasn't one of his tactics, too? Whatever this is about, it's gotta be a Big Deal, at least to Sans. Poking around in it might be dangerous...

 

But, shit, you can't have somebody threaten you like that and then just _not_ find out why. You clear your throat again and blurt it out before you can change your mind. "Would you happen to know a monster named Gaster?"

 

"HMM..." Papyrus plants his spoon hand on his hip, dripping sauce into his boot, and rubs his mandible thoughtfully with the other. "I CAN'T SAY THAT I DO! ARE THEY A FRIEND OF YOURS??"

 

Damn. "No, just..." You're not sure why you balk at telling Papyrus about Sans' aggressive behavior or him bizarrely interrogating you but... It just seems like you'd be causing trouble. This is something you can handle on your own, you think. "Just wondering," you evade and then wince. Smooth, Chara. Real smooth. Dammit.

 

"OKIE DOKIE," he replies, like there's nothing more to be said, and you mentally sag in relief. But then he turns back to the stove and his shoulders slump and you can see the corner of his mouth pull down. "MAY... MAY  _I_ ASK _YOU_ SOMETHING, CHARA?" he asks and, whoa, no 'HUMAN' on the end? His voice is the closest to a normal indoor voice you've ever heard from him.

 

Concerned, you reach out and pat his back. "Yeah. Sure, bro. Shoot."

 

He gently captures your hand before you can pull away and nudges your sleeve up a couple more inches, uncovering the edge of the bruising there. His eyes, deep and missing their usual energetic spark, never waver from yours as he releases you and you step back, hastily yanking your sleeves back down to your wrists.

 

"The Frisk human said that your foster guardian caused those injuries," he states, his tone conversational but flat. You didn't think Papyrus could be this quiet. Just that alone would be enough to freak you out. "I did not want to believe that a human responsible for caring for one of my very great friends could do such a deplorable thing but... It's true. Isn't it?"

 

Shit, _shit!_ This isn't anybody's business but yours. You don't _need_ anybody's _help._ "It- It's not like that," you mumble, looking away and crossing your arms sullenly. Damage control, _NOW!_ "I just... I did something r-really stupid and got in trouble and Scott... Scott was really, really mad but I tried to walk away from him, so he grabbed my arm. I'm f-fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore..."

 

Papyrus is still and quiet for a long minute. You both listen to the steady droning of the microwave; you, waiting for this uncomfortable moment to be over, and he, studying your face thoughtfully.

 

"NONSENSE!! YOUR GUARDIAN IS UNFIT!!!" he suddenly barks, astonishingly blunt. Really, you shouldn't be surprised; Papyrus is always blunt. You flounder, your mouth half open, with no idea what to even say. He pulls you against himself with one arm in half a hug. "YOU AND THE FRISK HUMAN WILL LIVE HERE!! WE WILL ADD A SECOND BED TO THE GUEST BEDROOM AND I WILL PROVIDE YOU WITH MORE SPAGHETTI AND PUZZLES THAN YOU COULD EVER DREAM POSSIBLE!!! IT WILL BE LIKE A SLEEPOVER, FOREVER!!!" He punctuates his statements with poses and one-armed spoon swinging, his scarf flailing wildly to keep up.

 

Dropping to one knee, he takes a stance that reminds you of The Thinker, nearly sending you sprawling onto your face, but he must be stronger than he looks because he supports your weight with ease. "SANS WILL ABSOLUTELY HATE IT!!!" he crows dramatically. "NEVERTHELESS! HE IS BEING A BIG, SMELLY DOODOO HEAD AND YOU ARE A VERY NICE HUMAN, SO SANS MUST ONE DAY LEARN TO PLATONICALLY LIKE YOU AS MUCH AS I DO!! NYEHEHEHEHEHEH!!!!"

 

You finally relax against his side, letting go of your pent-up tension, born of your humiliation and pain, and wrap your arms around his waist. Or, his spine, whatever. You let your head roll sideways to bonk against his armor affectionately.

 

"Thank you," you tell him sincerely, and you have to swallow thickly to loosen the lump in your throat that makes your voice waver. "Heh, not gonna lie, I think you're probably the best friend I've ever had, Paps, even though we've known each other for like a minute. There aren't many people as kind to me as you are..."

 

He stands, pulling you up with him, makes a quiet(ish), pleased 'NYEH' and hugs you fully, thwapping you upside the cheek with his spoon. You forgive him as soon as it happens, but then sigh heavily. "But I can't, I'm sorry." You lean back to look him in the eyesockets. "I have some things I have to take care of Aboveground. And someone very important who needs me."

 

His face droops, saddened and probably disappointed by your decision. You wish there was something you could say to cheer him up. An un-cheerful Papyrus seems like a crime against nature. And, oh look, the universe rights itself on its own, because he perks back up almost immediately. "WELL THEN... WHEN YOU'VE FINISHED YOUR BUSINESS AND RETRIEVED YOUR WAYWARD LOVED ONE, YOU SHALL HAVE TO COME BACK!! YOU CAN BRING WHOEVER-IT-IS AND THE FRISK HUMAN WITH YOU!!! AS LONG AS THEY LOVE PASTA, ALL ARE WELCOME AT CHEZ PAPYRUS!!"

 

"Hahah, yeah, he probably would eat pasta. I've seen him eat all kinds of stuff, so I dunno why not... Alright, then, you've got yourself a deal! We'll come back for visits and crash in your living room and have epic sleepovers!!" You both grin at each other, laughing and hugging and bouncing like excitable children.

 

You look up at the sound of the door opening and closing and Frisk trudges in, their shoes and the coat Papyrus lent them still covered in snowflakes that are gonna make one helluva mess as soon as they start melting. Papyrus reaches out with one of his long arms and scoops them into your hug, and you chatter and squeal at them as you both try to tell them about your plans at once, swinging them around the kitchen. They struggle grumpily at first, but they're gasping and laughing before long.

 

When the three of you finally calm down, you have Papyrus help you set up the table and chairs again while Frisk goes to take off their wet shoes and coat. You pull their dinner, now cooled back down enough to eat, out of the microwave and set it out for them. Maybe you steal a fry or two, no jury in the world would convict you. They're every bit as good as fresh, probably another quality of food prepared with fire magic.

 

Your clothes are filthy, so while Frisk is eating, you decide to change into the jersey and sweats you were lent and put yours through the wash again. Sans is lounging on the couch when you walk into the living room; you didn't know he was here. There aren't any snowflakes on his hoodie or slippers, just little puddles on the carpet and couch cushions where they've already melted... How long has he been sitting there? You glare at him, certain that he overheard at least part of your (very private!!) conversation with his brother.

 

He's giving you that evaluating look he mostly reserves for when he thinks you're not looking. You're up the stairs and walking down the landing toward the bathroom, still scowling at him, when he lifts a hand, pointing at his eyes with two fingers and then turning them to jab at you.

 

Oh, he's watching you, is he? Well, watch _this,_ goddammit!!

 

 _"Get fucked!"_ you sign and disappear around the corner, flipping him double eagles. The choked sound you hear from the living room should be illegal, it's so fucking satisfying.

 

Once you're in the bathroom and you've stripped off your shirt, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Wow, you sure did end up with more spaghetti sauce on you than you thought. There's clumps of it in your hair, ughhh... Groaning, you undress and step into the shower, nearly smashing your knee against the wall when the first spray of water to hit you is freezing cold from sitting in the pipes in this winter fucking wonderland.

 

By the time you've scrubbed the gritty paste out of your hair and skin, holding your breath against the revoltingly sweet shampoo, dried off, carefully rewrapped your bandages and thrown on your borrowed clothes, the house is quiet. You drop your dirty clothes and some detergent in the washing machine, hidden behind a sliding door down the hall, and start the cycle.

 

Frisk and Sans are asleep on the couch when you come down the stairs; Sans is slumped against the arm and Frisk is curled into a ball with their feet jammed into his side, probably tucked inside his ribcage. Papyrus is nowhere to be seen so you figure he must be in his room. The lights are off, but there's just enough light coming in through the windows and from under Sans' bedroom door to see by.

 

The bulky rectangular shape of your tablet bulges out one of Sans' hoodie pockets, and you deftly pickpocket it off him and hook it up to its charger. You rearrange the blanket so you can carefully shift Frisk until they're laying comfortably stretched out and consider the merits of shoving Sans' ass onto the floor. Leaning away from him so you can run for it if you have to, you poke at his belly with your toes.

 

"Pssst. Hey! Hey, go to your own room," you whisper. "I have to sleep here, asshole. Your butt is taking up too much space."

 

He huffs in his sleep and snores delicately, but doesn't give any indication that he heard you. You prod harder, jostling him, but he still doesn't stir. You're leaning into him with most of your weight on his stomach before you realize what's happening here. He has a gut. **HOW** does he have a gut, he's a skeleton????

 

Glancing at his face to make sure he's still sound asleep, you shuffle closer and poke at the front of his shirt with your fingers. Not only does this skeleton have a tummy, but it's warm and soft just like a human tummy. Your hands itch to pull up his shirt a couple inches, to have a peek underneath and see what's holding it up like that, but you know how it would look if you got caught. Sans already hates you for some incomprehensible reason, you don't want him to think you're a perv, too.

 

But, hey, while he's asleep... Maybe you can cop a feel of his face. It's always moving and flexing, shockingly expressive for a skull. You have to - you just _have to_ \- know if his face is squishy.

 

You chew on your lip as you debate whether or not groping Sans' face is truly worth the risk. He'd definitely be pretty pissed if he woke up. He might even attack you. It's kind of a really terrible idea. You resist the temptation...

 

...momentarily...

 

...and then you give right the hell in. You didn't have a look up his shirt, but, shit, if you're gonna be caught doing something, being annoying is miles better than being pervy.

 

Reaching out, you lightly tap his cheek with your fingertip. He makes a noise like he's smacking his lips (even though he doesn't have any) and his snoring gets louder, but he doesn't wake up. God, he is just knocked the fuck out cold, isn't he? You carefully nudge and press at his cheeks, then his jaw, and around his eyesockets...

 

His face bones feel solid like actual, honest-to-god bone when you touch them. But when you apply pressure, they dent and shift, like firm modeling clay. Or maybe rubber, because they spring back into shape when you let up. And they're really, really warm-

 

Frisk sits up and looks right at you, and you freeze. But their eyes are droopy and unfocused and their face is slack. They're still asleep. You stand slowly and take a guilty step away from the skeleton whose face you were just kneading like playdoh.

 

 _"...I parked the car under the waterfall..."_ Frisk signs, their fingers sluggish and clumsy.

 

"Well, then you'd better make sure the windows are rolled up, huh?" you murmur to them and stroke their hair until they nod and lay back down.

 

You give Sans' shoulder a token shake - he's sleeping like the dead ( _BA DUM TSS!_ ) - before you head back up the stairs and knock on Papyrus' door. He comes out - and his pastel orange pyjamas with little bones on them are too cute, you just can't - and agrees to carry Sans to his own room. You have to shoosh Papyrus every few words because his volume keeps ramping right back up, but soon the couch is clear of lazy monsters and you're free to lay down.

 

"Good night, Paps," you call quietly before he disappears back into his bedroom.

 

"GOOD NIGHT, CHARA," Papyrus calls back in that not-even-close-to-quiet whisper/yell of his.

 

You drift off smiling, cuddled up to Frisk, glad to finally be just you.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That little sleep-talking exchange is one my brother and I had once when he was little. When he would talk, and sometimes walk, in his sleep, it was always easier to get him sleeping peacefully again if I went along with whatever dream he was having.
> 
> Also, I would just like to let everyone named Scott know that I have nothing against you. The name was mostly chosen at random ~~by asking my fiancee what name an asshole might have~~.
> 
>  
> 
> Unused idea for how Sans got away from Frisk's one-sided snowball fight: He pulled up his hood and let them hit him in the face with snowballs until his clothes were completely filled with snow, then teleported out, leaving behind a fully-dressed snowSans decoy. Yes, he would have reappeared in his room buck naked, and yes, he would have totally caught a cold. ;D


	10. Something About Curiosity and Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, anon that asked me about putting Cat Facts into the fic, guess what? I lied. (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞  
> Never trust me.  
> Never.
> 
>  
> 
> So, anyway, here's some exposition, finally!!
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger warning: blood mention**

 

 

  
For the third time in as many days, Sans is ditching a little work to hang out in a Lab, but this one isn't his. His lab isn't nearly as big, or nearly as well equipped, but there's still something to be said for it. It has much better lighting, for one. And it's not quite as... inhabited.

 

Some... thing out in the hallway squelches past the closed door, humming/sobbing/screaming to itself in unintelligible, overlapping voices. The warped shadow it casts for a second on the door's frosted glass makes Sans' spine tingle. He tears his eyes away and dives back into his search with a fresh sense of urgency. The things that live down here don't seem to mind his presence right now, but they'll start getting hungry before long and they'll come looking for food.

 

His phalanges clatter rapidly over the keyboard of one of the several research computers. He pulls up file after file from the Archive databases: videos of witness statements, experiment logs with annotations written in several different hands, paper documents from over a hundred years ago that had been scanned and digitally stored... If there is even a single shred of fresh evidence to be found here, no matter how small, Sans is determined to find it. The truth about Gaster may depend on it, not to mention Sans' conscience and your life.

 

Sans' phone chimes in his pocket and, irritated, he fishes it out, still pecking distractedly at the keys with one hand. He has to scroll down through the texts that have been pestering him all morning to reach the latest one.

 

 

>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 6:37am  
>  Thanks for subscribing to Cat  
>  Facts! You will now receive  
>  <20/DAILY> fun facts about  
>  CATS!
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 6:38am  
>  Most cats don't like water  
>  because their coats do not  
>  insulate them well enough! X3
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:41am  
>  who's this how did you get this  
>  number
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 6:42am  
>  Thank you for texting Cat  
>  Facts! Did you know that cats  
>  have three eyelids? MeWOW!  
>  Click this link to manage your  
>  <3/MONTH> subscription, or text  
>  STOP to cancel.
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:48am  
>  this number is unlisted how did  
>  you get it? wtf 3months???
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:48am  
>  STOP
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 6:50am  
>  You indicated that you wish to  
>  <cancel> your <3/MONTH>  
>  subscription to Cat Facts.  
>  Please enter the following code  
>  to confirm: P38mRT689Ogtvd25
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:56am  
>  p38mrt6890gtvd25
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 6:56am  
>  confirm
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 6:58am  
>  Confirmation <incorrect.>  
>  Cancellation process  
>  <unsuccessful.>
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 7:00am  
>  fcuking cancel STOP
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 7:03am  
>  We're sorry, we're unable to  
>  process your request at this  
>  time. Please wait <48/HOURS> and  
>  try again. We apologize for the  
>  inconvenience and we have  
>  upgraded you to the <1 Year  
>  Premium> subscription as thanks  
>  for your patience.
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 7:05  
>  shitnoooo CANCEL
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 7:06  
>  Thank you for texting Cat Facts!  
>  Cats use their whiskers to  
>  detect whether they can fit  
>  through small spaces. =^w^=
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 8:16am  
>  Cats can move their ears 180  
>  degrees! You have <19> scheduled  
>  Cat Facts for the <DAY>  
>  remaining. Click this link to  
>  change your account preferences.
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 8:24am  
>  helpi cant clik the link. phone  
>  2 old
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 8:26am  
>  Thank you for texting Cat Facts!  
>  Cats sweat through their paws.  
>  They must be very awkward to   
>  hold hands with! XD
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 9:03am  
>  The technical term for a  
>  'hairball' is a 'bezoar.' Lol,  
>  EW! XP You have <18> scheduled  
>  Cat Facts for the <DAY>  
>  remaining.
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 10:28am  
>  The longest cat ever measured  
>  48.5 inches when fully stretched  
>  out! Long Cat is loooooooong!  
>  You have <17> scheduled Cat  
>  Facts for the <DAY> remaining.
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 11:41am  
>  Cats are believed to be  
>  responsible for the extinction  
>  of several species of animal.  
>  You have <16> scheduled Cat  
>  Facts for the <DAY> remaining.
> 
>  
> 
> From: bonephone  
>  To: XXX-XXX-XXXX 11:43am  
>  shut the hell up im trying to  
>  sleep
> 
>  
> 
> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 11:44am  
>  Thank you for texting Cat Facts!  
>  A cat's tail contains nearly 10%  
>  of all the bones in its body.  
>  8===8
> 
>  
> 
>  

Sans loves pranks as much as the next guy, but this is harassment and when he figures out who's responsible for this, they are gonna have one hell of a bad time. He had dragged himself out of bed after he involuntarily smiled at that bone emoticon, too annoyed and angry with himself to fall asleep again. Which is saying something because he regularly falls asleep on Papyrus' back while his bro's in full screaming lecture mode.

  
The house had been empty by the time he stumbled down the stairs. Papyrus had probably left to man his sentry post at the asscrack of dawn, while you and Frisk had scuttled off to god-knows-where. Which is fine with Sans, as long as Frisk is keeping you busy and out of trouble but, dammit all, you'd taken your tablet with you. He'd never admit it, but he rather enjoyed the gadget. So, groggy, grumpy, and bored, with no weird human music to entertain him, he'd decided to engage in what was probably, legally speaking, a little espionage.

  
A monster snooping around in the Royal Laboratory Archives, a monster who had lost his privileges years ago, was likely to be frowned upon if anybody found out.

  
Shaking his head, Sans finally reads the latest text.

 

 

From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
To: bonephone 12:34pm  
Did you know that cats can't  
taste sweetness? Maybe that  
means they're all sour-pusses,  
then. ;3 You have <15>  
scheduled Cat Facts for the  
<DAY> remaining.

 

 

The unexpected, quality pun makes him _paws_ , heh, and he almost snickers aloud before he catches himself. There's no time to fool around with texts right now. He's a monster on a mission. He drops his phone in his pocket and pointedly turns his attention back to the computer.

  
As he skims through a field report on the CORE written in Dr. Alphys' halting, rambling style, Sans thinks back to when he first asked her to help him investigate the disappearance of Dr. Gaster. She couldn't remember Gaster ever existing either, but when Sans showed her the evidence he'd collected during his time in the CORE, she had been too intrigued to refuse.

  
Together, they scoured the CORE's on-site servers, every hidden file and activity log. They pored over every scientific record they could get their claws and phalanges on, going back well over a hundred years. They took reams of readings with every sensor and probe they had, and invented a few more just so they could take even more readings.

  
After compiling a list of every living monster who may have had even a tangential connection to Dr. Gaster, the ones mentioned by name in what remained of Gaster's notes and journals being of the highest priority, they tracked down and interviewed each and every one of them. At best, one or two of them expressed feelings of déjà vu when they heard the name, but most of them remembered nothing. They even questioned King Asgore, himself. Other than some not-terrible tea and a lot of patient chuckling and head-shaking, they gained nothing new from it.

  
But, as things often go in scientific organizations, eventually they had to move on to other, more potentially fruitful projects. Alphys did so with ease; other than the desire to solve a particularly challenging puzzle, she didn't have much invested in the mystery. Sans did, on the other hand, and tried to keep up the same pace as before in his search for Gaster, picking up Alphys' slack, while also juggling the new research assignments given to him. He gradually stopped eating. He stopped sleeping. He spent more and more time at the Lab and the CORE instead of going home to care for his little brother, until he was going weeks at a time without seeing Papyrus.

  
He was letting it consume him, but he just couldn't let it go. How could a monster disappear the way Gaster- the way Sans' father did? Gaster didn't simply disappear, either. People's memories, tangible records of his life, the very reality of his existence was nearly wiped off the face of the universe. It was scientifically impossible. It was magically impossible, for that matter. And Sans was killing himself trying to figure it out.

  
It was when he was stumbling through the CORE, weak from hunger and half out of his mind from sleep deprivation, that he found a possible answer: Determination. Behind a door that he was pretty sure wasn't there before, was a peculiar, inoperable machine and several files and journals written in Gaster's odd symbol-based code. Sans practically barricaded himself inside that room until he had pieced together the fresh clues he gleaned from them, and when he finished, he went straight to Alphys to share his new theory.

  
By that point, he was raving, delirious, maybe even hallucinating. He honestly can't remember now what kind of gibberish he was babbling. Alphys took one look at him and dragged him off to see Asgore, and before the end of the business day, Sans had been summarily fired from his position at the Royal Laboratory. His access to all lab databases was revoked, and he was banned from setting foot in any lab facility.

  
It really was for his own good, although he sure as hell didn't see it that way at the time. He took out most of his anger on Alphys, feeling that she had betrayed him, and said a lot of things to her that could probably never be completely taken back. It took Papyrus, still just a half-grown kid, hesitantly asking him why his max HP was so low for Sans to realize that in his quest to find closure, he'd pushed himself to within an inch of falling down. He swore to himself that he'd drop it. Decided it wasn't worth it if it meant running the risk of dying and leaving his bro all alone.

  
...And now here he is, prying into classified data and opening up this old can of worms all over again, anyway.

  
He grumbles and blinks his eyes a few times to make them focus; he's been sitting motionless, staring through the computer monitor in front of him, for some time, lost in his thoughts. It's... not like he _wants_ to dredge up all this shit, but when he made that promise to himself, he had no idea there'd ever be an opportunity like this. How could he have possibly known that _Chara_ freaking _Dreemurr_ would show up, out of the blue, after a century of being _DEAD?!_

  
It still doesn't make any sense, you being here and alive, but now that the initial shock has more or less worn off, Sans has decided that you're most valuable if you stay that way. For now. He's sure that if he gathers together all the information about the events leading up to Gaster's disappearance he can find, he can figure out how much you had to do with it. He'll confront you with irrefutable evidence of your past and personally see to it that you pay for your sins, whatever they may be.

  
His brooding is interrupted by - surprise, surprise - his phone chirping and a new text. God, can't a guy investigate the possible murder of his father and plot to kill a teenager in peace?! Sighing heavily, Sans pulls out his phone and reads.

 

 

> From: XXX-XXX-XXXX  
>  To: bonephone 1:58pm  
>  A cat has five toes on his  
>  front paws and four on the  
>  back. Unless he is a  
>  polydactyl. (Or a pterodactyl,  
>  but that would just be silly  
>  lmao) You have <14> scheduled  
>  Cat Facts for the <DAY>  
>  remaining.

 

 

Sans is chuckling before he even realizes it, and cuts himself off with a frustrated huff. Well, he isn't finding much here anyway. Except for a couple pages of blueprints for something called a 'DT Extractor' that Alphys never told him about, but then he always knew she was holding things back from him. If there's more, or if Alphys kept researching Gaster after Sans left, which he's entirely sure she did, she hid that data too well for him to find without the proper network permissions.

  
He copies the new blueprints, every document containing mentions of the CORE, and the witness statement videos into a new file, encrypts it, and sends it via secured Undernet link to his own computer. And not a moment too soon, either. He can hear one of those things in the hallway again, shrieking/wailing/whispering as it scrabbles closer. Something that sounds like viscous liquid sloshes to a stop and claws clink on the doorknob.

  
Fuck, does he ever need a drink.

  
By the time the door opens and a handful of assorted gooey, white eyes peers into the room, it's empty.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You're up to your elbows in soap bubbles.

  
Grillby and Frassy weren't exaggerating when they used the word 'mountain' to describe the piles of dirty dishes back here. When you were first shown into the kitchens, you wondered if maybe Grillby had used every, last dish he owned, bought more, and then used those up too. There are way more dishes here than such a small restaurant could ever justifiably need.

  
And Frisk, while they had enthusiastically agreed to help when you talked to them about this earlier, eventually got bored and wandered off. You told them to stay in the building and to keep out of Grillby's way, but otherwise left them to entertain themself. Having them there to hang out and keep you company is always great, but honestly, you can work a lot faster on your own.

  
Normally, when you wash huge amounts of dishes like this, you like to sort and stack them all first, so you can clean out the sinks and have room to work. But there's just too many dishes here, and not nearly enough counter space, so you're trying to work your way through each of the sink compartments as they are, and the going is slow. You don't really mind, though. You're no stranger to tedious grunt work. And you're being paid by the hour, so. But, you know... All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy... You rinse the suds off your hands and arms, drying them on a dish towel so you can pull out your phone.

  
You'd changed Sans' contact name to cheer yourself up, after the shit he pulled yesterday. He'll never know about it, but you feel some passive-aggressive satisfaction anyway. Smirking diabolically to yourself, you send another of the pre-written texts in your Drafts to _'hat made of asses.'_ And while your hands aren't dripping, you suppose you should check up on Frisk, too.

  
They're carrying two glasses of soda to a booth when you poke your head into the restaurant proper. Grillby must have caught them slacking off and put them to work waiting tables. You smile as you watch them shuffle slowly through the dining area, a look of intense concentration on their little face, the tip of their tongue poking out of the corner of their mouth, obviously trying as hard as they can not to spill the drinks.

  
Frisk has made it halfway across the room when the door opens and Sans comes strolling in. A chorus of greetings raises from the regular customers, and Grillby flips him a brief salute from behind the bar.

  
"hiya, everybody," Sans answers, pulling a hand out of his hoodie pocket to give them all a lazy wave. His eyes land on you and you think from the truncated sound he makes that he was about to make a joke or something, but he cuts himself off.

  
You each hike an eyebrow at the other in infuriatingly identical - you're not copying him, _he's_ copying _you_ \- derisive glares, and try to stare each other down. His phone chooses that moment to buzz in his pocket, making him blink first, and you shoot him a superior smirk as he pulls it out and reads the message. You make sure to keep your expression as innocent as you can. His eyes flick back up to you and narrow in suspicion, as he probably tries to figure out if you could have sent that text even though your hands are in plain view and clearly empty.

  
"Heyyy, Sansy~ Yoo hoo~" Sassafras calls from their usual booth and Sans turns his attention to them, changing his entire demeanor like a snake shedding its skin.

  
"hey, there, buddy," he replies, his voice deepening to a smooth rumble and his ever-present grin turning suave as he hooks a hip on the edge of their table. "so, are you feeling frassy today or are you feeling sassy?" He waggles his brows and they giggle.

  
"Why don'cha come a little closer and find out for yerseff, Big Boy~" they coo, planting a noisy smooch on their ear and blowing it to him. He mimes snagging the kiss out of the air and clapping it against his cheekbone.

  
"oooh, sassy it is, then." Sans gives them a saucy wink, his eyes hooded, and adds, "just how i like it." Sassafras squeals with delight and blushes a vivid yellow-green, fur and all. Disgusted, you cringe and shudder so hard you damn near pull a muscle.

  
Frisk finally manages to set the sodas in front of a bear monster and a mouse monster at their booth without spilling ~~much~~ , then bounces over to Sans. They tug at his sleeves and begin signing cheerfully to him. As the two of them move over to sit at the bar and chat, you back into the kitchen and return to the sink. Your baby sibling should be fine for now. You don't trust Sans as far as you could throw him, but he's never tried to hurt Frisk that you know of and you're sure he won't try anything in front of a restaurant full of witnesses.

  
You fall into a comfortable rhythm now that you've cleared a little room to work, and you begin to zone out and work on auto-pilot, until your knuckle bumps against the point of something sharp. You carefully feel along it until you find a handle. When you pull the object from the water, you're horrified to see that it's a large knife. Grillby, really bro, putting a knife in a sink filled with water is breaking one of the most basic food service safety rules. You blanch when you think of how much worse you could have just been cut.

  
After rinsing your hands, you examine your finger and see that it's just a shallow nick. Out of habit, you pop your injured knuckle in your mouth and taste a trace of coppery blood. There's a nudging at the fringes of your perception and you almost look around to see if Grillby is talking to you, but you know - just know, the way you know things in dreams - that no one is there.

  
You grip the knife's handle, your palm curling around it with an almost practiced ease. The wood warms against your skin until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. A smile creeps onto your face, entirely of its own volition, the corners of your mouth stretching uncomfortably wide, and a laugh bubbles from your throat.

  
Raising the blade slowly, you give it a ponderous swing through the air, testing its balance, its weight. It's easy, so easy, like an extension of your arm, like it belongs there. And why shouldn't it, hehe? A weapon should feel like a part of its wielder. Silly you, you should know that, right? You stroke your thumb down the flat of the blade, water droplets smearing like warm blood over the metal. Your eyes lose focus and for a second, it is blood on the knife. On your hands. Blood and something else, like ashes or _dust_...

  
The sickly sweet smell of yellow flowers fills your head and your mouth fills with the taste of blood. Your breathing slows - too slow, not enough air - but you can't make yourself gasp, your diaphragm just doesn't respond. Your vision narrows to a pinpoint and the white noise of the running faucet falls away into muffled silence. Your thoughts and your body seem curiously disconnected, like you're trying to control a puppet without strings. You can hear a voice - your own voice? - but you can't make out what-

  
Just as consciousness begins to slip away, your arms go slack and the knife your fingers are locked around strikes the edge of the metal sink with a loud clang, making your entire body jolt backwards. You try to scream, but there's no air and you choke instead, finally dragging in a few agonizing breaths. Your head is spinning from lack of oxygen and you're exhausted; you just sit right there on the floor, desperately trying to wipe the blood and dust on your shaking hands and the knife off on your shirt.

  
Except, when your breathing starts to even out and you finally look down, your hands are clean and you're not holding a knife at all. It's just a metal spatula. What. The. Fuck?? Did you fall asleep on your feet and dream all that shit just now? You didn't sleep well, but damn, you didn't think it was that bad.

  
After getting a bandaid from the kitchen's first aid kit and putting it on your finger, you get back to work on the dishes. When you're done here, you and Frisk are heading straight into Waterfall. You're determined to make as much progress as you can before the day is out.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're ready, cuz everybody's favorite little, yellow ray of sunshine will be making an appearance next chapter! Are you guys excited?? I'm excited!! ヽ(ﾟ▽ﾟ*)乂(*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ
> 
>  
> 
> Your moment of zen for the day:  
> Papyrus cosplaying Solaire of Astora from Dark Souls. He refuses to break character, but all of his ramblings are about pasta instead of the sun. Sans cosplaying Siegmeyer of Catarina. He falls asleep as soon as he finishes putting on the armor and Paps has to roll his ass around.
> 
>  
> 
> And for a brief moment of serious talk, there are going to be some things in this fic that can be squicky or even triggering to some people. I don't necessarily want to tag the big ones so far ahead of time, because spoilers, but I also don't want to hurt anyone, in the event that I don't display my trigger warnings prominently enough when those potentially triggering things happen. So, I would like some feedback, please. Either in the comments or on tumblr, please tell me whether you think I should go ahead and tag for the big stuff now, or like a couple chapters before the chapters with triggery content are posted, or whether I should wait until those chapters are posted and add prominent warnings.  
> I will go ahead and say right now that this fic **will not** feature dubcon/noncon, pedophilia, physically abusive romantic relationships, or pregnancy (including mpreg).  
>  EDIT: I've also planned all along for this fic to be Explicit, but didn't see the need to use an Explicit rating until I actually put in explicit material. Should I go ahead an change the rating now, along with adding preemptive tags?


	11. Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning: Drowning**  
>  nobody actually drowns, but idk, i'm kinda hydrophobic myself so i figured i'd tag it, just in case

 

 

 

You dry the final plate and set it on a stack of its brethren, breathing a sigh of relief. Finished at last! You look over the piles of now-clean dishes and feel a swell of pride in your chest. Damn, that was one hell of a big job to tackle. It's still not technically done yet, but you don't know where Grillby typically keeps most of these dishes, aside from the pots that are now hanging from their hooks by their handles, the utensils with their own designated bin, and the wall-mounted magnetic strip for the knives.

  
As you washed and hung them up, you noticed that while there were an eclectic assortment of knives, the one you ~~found~~ imagined you found in the sink wasn't among them.

  
You'd pushed that weird daydream to the back of your mind. You've had stranger dreams before, you guess. Although they usually happen when you're sick or you accidentally fall asleep at school, not when you're on your feet and working. One time, you fell asleep in Señor Pospishil's Spanish class and dreamed that you were making your way home by jumping from fire hydrant to fire hydrant. But then you dreamed that you slipped and broke your spine and you woke up with such a start that you scared the kid next to you out of his chair.  Señor P no le hizo gracia. You ended up with three days of detention.

  
Anyway, you can ask Grillby where he wants you to put these stacks of plates, bowls, and glasses before you leave. In the meantime, you set about scrubbing and sanitizing the sinks and drying racks, then mopping up the surrounding area.

  
Grillby comes into the kitchen as you're finishing up, keeping a safe distance away from the wet parts of the floor. He points out the proper places for all of the dishes and as you put them away, he counts out a generous amount of gold coins and sets them on the small table by the door. The now-familiar telepathy nudges at your brain as he tells you that there's a bonus included in your pay if you'll please wash down the counter tops, too.

  
You think he's _warmed up_ to you (pfft wow, lame, Chara), now that you've had a few interactions where you haven't hit on him. He seemed tense when you and Frisk showed up this morning, obviously expecting more awkward comments, but you kept your behavior friendly yet professional and he loosened up as he showed you around the kitchen and storage room. You even convinced him to trade phone numbers with you, in case he has more work for you before you leave the Underground. It never hurts to have more pocket money - if you have any coins left over, maybe you can sell them to a collector Aboveground - and it gave you an opportunity to set his contact name as _'too hot (hot damn).'_

  
"You got it, boss," you agree with a smile, and he nods, pleased.

  
You still cast a sidelong glance at his retreating tush as he leaves, though. Mmmh, that's nice. Hey, he might be taken, but he's not invisible and you do have eyes in your head. You can still enjoy what's on display, so long as you don't try to touch.

  
Cleaning the counter tops goes quickly and before you know it, you're completely done. You stop at the little desk by the door to pick up your pay and your backpack and jot down a few words on a notepad, tearing the page off and folding it into a square small enough to tuck into your palm. Frisk and Sans are still sitting at the bar when you leave the kitchen, a half-empty glass of soda in front of your sibling, and two completely empty bottles of ketchup in front of the skeleton. From Sans' goofy smile and what Frisk is signing, you gather that they're trading icecream puns.

  
"Hey, Squirt, did'ja finish up and clock out already?" you ask as you join them. You poke Frisk in the ribs, making them squeak, and with some sleight of hand, you nimbly reverse pickpocket the piece of paper into the hood of Sans' jacket. He watches your face warily and shifts on his stool, uncomfortable now that you're suddenly standing so close, but you don't think he notices.

  
Frisk digs into their pockets and proudly shows off the scooping fistful of gold coins they'd earned. You pretend to try to swipe them, and they clutch them to their chest and stick their tongue out at you while you ruffle their hair.

  
You extend your hand over the bar, still laughing, to shake hands with Grillby, who had gone back to polishing glasses with a rag. He hesitates for a beat while a secondhand impression of surprise brushes over your mind, before he reaches out. His hand is hot, not quite comfortable, but not hot enough to be scalding, and his grip is businesslike and firm. "It was great working with you, Grillbz. If you need help again, just call."

  
You turn back to Frisk. "Alllllrighty, we'd better get a move on," you tell them, draping your jacket over their narrow shoulders. "You ready to go?" They glance between you and Sans with a calculating look in their eyes, but nod and hop down from their stool.

  
_"We have to_ split," they sign to Sans, their face twitching with barely-suppressed giggles as they try to make their icecream pun seem unintentional.

  
The lights in his eyes slide off to gaze into the middle distance and he feigns obliviousness, too. "well, then, you'd better _shake_ a leg, or it's a _sherbet_ you won't get anywhere today," he replies. Frisk snorts indelicately and they both laugh at each other's jokes while you wave goodbye to Sassafras and the Royal Guard dogs. Doggo yelps, startled again by your tendency to move suddenly.

  
Like it's an afterthought, you incline your head at Sans in farewell and say, "Smell ya later, trashbag." You pat his shoulder blade as Frisk pulls you toward the door like the two of you are anything even close to resembling friends, and are rewarded with a scorching glare that quickly slides back beneath what you can now easily recognize as a mask of fake levity. It really is unnerving how he can change his tune on command like that.

  
Outside, Snowdin must be experiencing a cold snap - or, at least, colder - because the arctic air turns your breath to thick clouds of steam and you're shivering before you even make it off Grillby's stoop. Frisk bundles your coat tighter around themself and, sticking just enough of their hands out to be understood, tells you that it's warmer in Waterfall and that the two of you should hurry. Agreeing wholeheartedly, you try to sling your backpack over your shoulder and prepare to jog, but then it bounces against your bruised ribcage and you involuntarily hiss through your teeth.

  
_"I'll carry that,"_ Frisk signs, grabbing your bag from your rapidly numbing fingers and dashing ahead before you can try to put on a brave face and say no.

  
"Hey! I can carry it just fine!" you call out as you awkwardly hobble after them as fast as you can.

  
Your bad hip, fractured in some incident that happened when you were a kid, before you can remember, is stiffening up already. It usually doesn't bother you, aside from the odd twinge when it's about to rain or the time it popped out of the socket when you jumped off a swing set and landed wrong. But it's never seemed to move quite right when you run, even in warm weather, and you have to do this lopsided galloping thing to maintain any speed. If you weren't freezing your ass off, you'd probably be too embarrassed by how silly you look to gimp through town like this.

  
But you make it to the easternmost limits of Snowdin without passing out or turning into the world's sassiest popsicle, and you notice how the snowy path abruptly gives way to a boggy, muddy path. A wall of heat and humidity hits you just before you pass through a narrow crevasse in the rock face.

  
Papyrus told you before you left his house this morning how to travel through Waterfall and the areas to follow to get to the capitol city of New Home and the King of all Monsters. He told you who to look out for, a list that started and ended with Undyne, the Captain of the Royal Guard and Papyrus' dear friend. He even told you how to go about asking for help to cross the barrier and return home.

  
What he didn't tell you was how freaking dark and wet Waterfall would be. Right away, moisture clings to your skin and your clothes, making you feel like you've just stepped inside after walking home in the rain. The short grass that blankets the ground squelches under your boots. You can see Frisk walking in front of you, but only because they're silhouetted against the dim blueish light emanating from the next room.

  
You pass through the gap into the brighter room, and, to your supreme displeasure, the first thing your eyes land on is a complacent grin stretched across a pale, bony face. Sans lounges in a chair at a sentry post, identical to the ones in Snowdin forest down to the snow on the roof, his feet propped up on the counter. He seems to be fast asleep, but you assume it's an act. Also, how did he beat you here, when you only left him at Grillby's a few minutes ago...?

  
Know what? Nevermind. You don't care. He can do whatever it is he does and you'll just go about your business and not waste time or energy trying to figure out why or how he does anything.

  
You examine the rest of your surroundings instead. Fist-sized blue crystals embedded into the walls and ceiling illuminate this section of cavern and there is water bubbling up from a spring by your feet and tumbling over the edge of a cliff along one side of the path. You shuffle a bit closer to the wall where a monster that seems to be made of a goldfish in a bowl and a loose collection of fish-like body parts slouches next to a large blue flower.

  
"Sweet shades, bro," you tell him.

  
"Thanks!" he replies, touching the frames with the tip of a fin.

  
_"Thanks!"_ the flower says, quieter.

  
"They were talking to me, shut up!" the fish monster snaps at it.

  
_"They were talking to me, shut up!"_ the flower says back.

  
"No, you shut up!" _"No, you shut up!"_

  
You leave them to their squabbling. Frisk makes a beeline to a little yellow monster who is kicking pebbles over the cliff and watching them disappear into the fathomless pit below. You've seen this kid before, running around Snowdin and occasionally tripping over their own feet.

  
"Yo!" The kid - you're pretty sure you heard a red monster with a cloak call them MK once - flashes a toothy smile. "Are you dudes here to see Undyne, too? She's so AWESOME! I wanna be just like her when I grow up!" Their eyes lose a little of their sparkle and they shift their weight guiltily. "Just, um, don't tell my parents I'm here, ok?"

  
Frisk gives them a solemn nod and a wave and moves straight on to where Sans is 'sleeping.' Wow, you've never really seen them engage somebody in a conversation and then immediately dismiss them like that. Looks like the two of you will have to have a talk about their manners. You, on the other hand, are more than willing to stay and chat with MK, and you're certain they have some useful information, too.

  
You pick up some pebbles to toss into the void. "So, Undyne's really cool, huh?" is all you have to say and the kid just starts gushing. You learn that Undyne is a fish monster and native to Waterfall, and that she's really tall and really, really strong, and they give you a general run-down of her abilities. Aside from having crazy strength, she can apparently also summon spears made of solidified magic.

  
"Sounds like she's pretty tough," you say and MK picks that comment up and runs with it, too. You get detailed, if perhaps exaggerated, accounts of every time they snuck into Waterfall to watch her practice and spar with her Royal Guardsmen. They give you blow-by-blow descriptions of her moves, jumping around and flailing their feet in their best attempts to mimic them.

  
"And then, when he was trying to figure out where she went, she came down from the ceiling like RRRRAAAAAAUUUUGHH!!!"

  
They kick their foot up as high as they can and bring their heel down in what would be a devastating finishing move if it were performed by an actual warrior, instead of a small, armless child. They miss the ground and don't reel in the strike on the follow through, so their foot goes swinging out behind them, throwing them wildly off-balance and launching their body toward the edge of the cliff.

  
Your hand shoots out before your mind even registers the need to move, scattering your remaining pebbles, and you catch them by the back of their shirt. Their frightened cry is cut off by their collar snapping tight around their throat as you haul them back to solid ground. They plop down on their bottom, coughing and panting.

  
"Shi-eeez, that was a close one!" you exclaim, your heart pounding in your ears.

  
MK looks up at your face, their eyes glassy. "I... I..." They shake their head and pull in a steadying breath. "Yo, I think you mighta just saved my life! I thought I was a goner, for sure..." A trace of that hero-worship edges back into their expression. "You've got some real good reflexes."

  
"Ah, yeah, I guess so. Must be from rescuing little siblings from danger all my life. I've got them ninja-like, big sibling skills!" You strike a wobbly karate pose and do some poorly-coordinated punches and MK laughs, their fear ebbing away.

  
Two knocks ring out and you look over at Frisk. _"Come here,"_ they sign.

  
"Oops, seems my skills are needed elsewhere," you tell MK. "You gonna be ok?"

  
"Yeah, I think so! I'll catch'ya later, dude," they say and trot off deeper into Waterfall.

  
You join Frisk at Sans' sentry station. The skeleton is awake, watching you with that evaluating look in his eyesockets again, and you have this feeling like he's taking notes about you, like when you're talking to a therapist or a doctor and they write something down. You haven't felt that particular sensation in a while.

  
_"Sans is going on break,"_ Frisk signs. _"He invited us to go to Grillby's with him."_

  
Wait, he did? Why? "Weren't you just there?" you ask him. "Weren't _we all_ just there, like minutes ago??"

  
"you didn't eat though, right?" Sans points out, addressing Frisk. "and i gotta go on all my breaks, they're legally-required. we might as well grab some grub together."

  
_"Come on, let's go with him. Pleeeeeeeeease??"_ They break out the puppy-dog look on you and sign circles in front of their chest over and over until you crack.

  
"Siiiigh... Oh alright, fine." You are gonna bitch about the cold every step of the way, though.

  
Sans takes his time standing up and shuffling out from behind his station. He and Frisk lead the way, strolling off - in the wrong direction, wtf?? - with you bringing up the rear. They pass through an open space in the wall into the next room and you lose sight of them in the darkness for what you expect to only be a second. Until you step through too and realize they've disappeared completely.

  
"Frisk?" you call out. You don't hear them, but of course, you wouldn't. You swallow your pride long enough to try, "Sans?" Jogging a little in case you fell behind somehow, you pass another waterfall and splash through ankle-deep water - your shoes and socks are soaked now, fucking shit - and make it all the way to the next room before you start to admit to yourself that they're just gone. You're all alone.

  
You pull out your phone, bobbling it in your haste, and tap out a short text to Frisk.

 

> From: THEN WHO WAS PHONE  
>  To: Frisky Bitz 2:38pm  
>  ey where u at??
> 
>  

If they are still nearby, you might be able to hear their phone's notification tone, so you listen carefully to the not-quite-silence. All you hear is the muted roar of a lot of rushing water from further down the path and the scattered drips of individual droplets falling all around you from the stalactites in the ceiling.

  
You see the new message icon the instant it appears, because by now you're practically pressing the screen against your eyeballs. Your phone doesn't ring; you had set your ringer to silent when you were sending Cat Facts, because letting your target call back and catch your phone ringing is the most amateur mistake a prankster can make.

 

>   
>  From: Frisky Bitz  
>  To: THEN WHO WAS PHONE 2:41pm  
>  we r at grilbys where r u?
> 
>  

  
Reasonably assured that your baby sibling isn't being brutally murdered, you sit on the ground and lean back against a rock wall to type your response. The black, grass-like moss under you is soft and damp from the humidity. Waterfall seems like it wouldn't be such a bad place to camp out overnight if you have to. It's pretty balmy, but it's not hot enough to be stifling, and not cold enough for the wet air to leech away your body heat.

 

> From: THEN WHO WAS PHONE  
>  To: Frisky Bitz 2:54pm  
>  i'm still in waterfall. how r  
>  u guys there already???

 

  
A voice echoes from somewhere nearby, and you recognize it instantly. You'd know Papyrus' foghorn-like screeching anywhere, even with the way the sound bounces around the caverns. But what's he doing here, and who's he talking to?

  
There are two more messages waiting for you when you check your phone. You set your ringer back to loud before you open them.

 

> From: Frisky Bitz  
>  To: THEN WHO WAS PHONE 2:57pm  
>  sans teleprted
> 
>  
> 
> From: Frisky Bitz  
>  To: THEN WHO WAS PHONE 2:58pm  
>  come back 2 snowdin
> 
>  

 

Oh, huh. Teleportation. That makes sense, then. Sans does always seem to be popping up or disappearing unexpectedly, or leaving places without using doors. There weren't any footprints in the snow when he showed up to threaten you yesterday, come to think of it, and there was that one time when he literally vanished right before your eyes. Your mind kinda noped the fuck out of registering that at the time, you guess, and you just didn't put two and two- Wait!

  
Wait just a diddly darn minute! If Sans can teleport, and also take other people along with when he does, that means that dickhead just intentionally ran off with your sibling and fucking ditched you!!

  
"What the fuck am I? **_Jerry??!_** God _dammit!"_ you howl into the darkness.

  
Fine! If that's how he wants to play it, you're not gonna come running after him like some sniveling puppy, all the way back to Snowdin. You wouldn't put it past him not to teleport Frisk to Waterfall just to jerk you around if you did, either. And you're damn sure not going to sit here like a lump, waiting for him to decide to bring them back whenever he feels like it.

  
You lurch to your feet and stomp down the path, jabbing viciously at the buttons of your phone. You have to delete two 'fuck's from your message before you can send it.

 

> From: THEN WHO WAS PHONE  
>  To: Frisky Bitz 3:03pm  
>  no im going on ahead. tell  
>  snas to bring u back to  
>  wtaerfall when ur done eating  
>  and that ill have his skullcap  
>  as a cereal bowl if he doesnt
> 
>  

You're slogging blindly through a stand of some kind of canes or tall grass that comes up to your shoulders when you realize that you can hear Papyrus' voice much clearer. After you come to a stop and still your thrashing, you can also hear a second, unfamiliar voice. Or... not quite unfamiliar. It's almost as if you've heard that voice somewhere before. You're probably mistaken. It's really hard to tell, with the way it's muffled and sounds like it's echoing up from the bottom of a well.

  
But then you hear Papyrus call the person by name and your guts turn to ice. Shit, that's Undyne he's talking to?! You hold your breath and swivel your neck around, trying to figure out exactly where they are. At first you see nothing but wet stone walls and darkness, but then you realize that above you the walls open up into a larger room, and Papyrus and Undyne must be standing almost directly over your head.

  
You crouch down in the grass and try to duckwalk past them as quietly as you can, but the going is slow, you can't see more than a few inches in front of yourself, and every move you make causes everything around you to rustle. Just as you're about to give up on stealth and make a break for it, your forehead crashes into something hard with a hollow _thwak!_

  
"OWWW!!" the object cries, and you find yourself face to face with a yellow monster kid. "Yo! Be careful, dude!"

  
"MK?" you whisper, clutching at your skull. Damn, that kid has a hard head!

  
"Yo, Chara, you seen Undyne yet? I think she's around here somewhere. Isn't she SUPER- _mmph?!?"_ Their little spiked tail whips at the grass when you clamp your hand over their mouth and pull them into a headlock. _"Mmm-mmphhhh!"_ they try to say into your palm.

  
"Shhh!" you hiss close to where you think their ear might be while they squirm in your arms. You hear Undyne shout something, but it's too muffled to understand. Papyrus' voice comes to you loud and clear, though.

  
"WELL, I DON'T HEAR ANYTHING!! IF THERE WAS SOMETHING TO HEAR, I WOULD MOST CERTAINLY HEAR IT, FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE REMARKABLY SENSITIVE EARS!"

 

There's a pause where you assume Undyne says something about him not having any ears, then, "I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN LISTEN TO YOUR NAY-SAYING!!! I WILL HELP YOU TO CAPTURE THE HUMANS IN ANY WAY I CAN, BUT THEY ARE VERY NICE HUMANS AND YOU WILL SEE WHEN YOU MEET THEM! AND THEN!! THEN YOU WILL BE UNWILLING TO TAKE THEIR SOULS BECAUSE THEY ARE SO NICE!!! MARK MY WORDS, UNDYNE!! NYEH HEH HEH!"

  
Aw, Papyrus... It's impressive how loyal a friend he is, even when he's ultimately stabbing you in the back. You listen to him march away, the sound his huge boots squelching in the mud fading into the distance. MK wriggles again and you adjust your grip, making sure you're not holding them too tightly but not letting go either.

  
"Not yet," you whisper.

  
A couple minutes tick by and nothing happens. Maybe Undyne left when Paps did, and you just didn't hear her walking? Cautiously, you release MK and stand, but put a finger to your lips when they open their mouth to ask the first of what you're sure would be many questions. They shut up again with a frown, but they look far more confused than anything. As long as they stay silent, it's all good.

  
Speaking of silence, if you're gonna be sneaking around Waterfall and dodging Guardsmen like this, you had better set your phone back to silent. You pull it out of your pocket and bring up the Options menu. The last thing you need is for-

  
It rings in your hand. You have never been less happy to hear the victory music from Final Fantasy.

  
Several things happen, chained one right after the other in the span of no more than a second or two. First, you hear a loud metallic clank, and then a glowing blue javelin goes whizzing past your ear. You jump a mile in the air and your phone goes flying out of your hand and disappears in the tall grass, making you squeak out a swear word in an octave you didn't know you could reach. MK's eyes go wide and their mouth drops open in shock.

  
You don't waste a single millisecond on looking around to see where the attack came from; you bolt like a startled rabbit, as fast as the adrenaline coursing through your battered, unathletic body can carry you. A deafening crash resounds behind you, from where you were just standing, and a booming battle cry pierces the air. You break free from the tall grass, nearly fall on your face, catch yourself painfully with your bad leg, and go stumbling through a passageway into the next room.

  
There's no way you can outrun Undyne like this. You're limping and gasping already, your arms wrapped around your screaming ribs. Ahead of you, the path ends at a pool of water and continues on the other side. There's no bridge and the gap is too big for you to jump, even on a good day. You see a little alcove in the wall out of the corner of your eye and you don't even think, you just dive sideways into it and wedge yourself into a corner, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

  
Two seconds later, a hulking figure in a massive suit of armor thunders past, bellowing about how cowardly it is to run from certain death. She hurdles the pool of water and then some in a single leap, armor and all. You'd be very impressed if you weren't so busy shitting a brick. Her clattering footfalls pound away from your hiding spot, until they're too far away to hear.

  
Slowly, you stand and tiptoe over to the water. You'll have to go this direction to make any headway, but there's still no way to get to the other side, unless you swim across. In the middle of trying to come up with a better idea, you hear heavy footsteps again, coming up on you fast. Undyne must have realized she wasn't chasing you anymore and now she's backtracking.

  
There isn't time to return to the alcove, and it's completely visible from the side she's on anyway, so you do the first thing your instincts tell you. You take a deep breath and a step and drop into the water. The pool is deep and seems to bell out under the surface, creating rocky overhangs around the edges. You cram yourself into one of them, gripping the craggy stone to keep your body from drifting into the open.

  
Above you, you hear Undyne stomping past. She's going slower than before, presumably searching for you more carefully. Hopefully, as long as you relax and try to remain calm, you can stay under long enough for her to move on. You listen to her leap across the water once, then twice, and then a third time and she checks and rechecks the room. Pressure builds behind your eyes as you gradually run out of oxygen.

  
You clutch your hands over your mouth and nose to stop bubbles from escaping. The ever-present ache in your ribs is rapidly escalating to a searing pain, and spots are starting to appear before your eyes. A voice in your head screams at you to move, to swim, to _breathe!_ , and you hold out for a few precious seconds before you can't take it anymore and you desperately claw your way to the surface.

  
The first frantic gasp of air is part water and you hack and choke on it and cling weakly to the edge of the pool. You drag in breath after glorious breath and, little by little, your pounding heart slows and your shaking body stills. You feel so weak; you just want to lie here forever. Luckily, the water is blood-warm and there's no breeze to chill you. You rest with one ear pressed to the ground, in case Undyne comes around again.

  
You don't know how much time passes, but eventually you feel like enough of your strength has returned. Nobody came, so it looks like you're safe for now. You ended up on the far side of the pool when you surfaced, so you don't even need to swim across, just pull yourself up onto solid ground. The air's too wet for your clothes to dry out any time soon, so you pour the water out of your boots and strip off your socks and shirts and wring them out as best you can before putting them back on.

  
The books at the LIBRARBY said that monsters' souls are made of things like compassion and love, but the signals you've been receiving seem to be pretty mixed. First you were attacked, and then you were coddled. Then you were bullied, and not too long after you were showered with unconditional friendship. Today you were given purpose and you even saved a life, and then you were abandoned and hunted...

  
Just as you're struggling to pull your soggy undershirt on over your head, you feel that horribly familiar tug in the center of your being. You turn around and a monster, half horse and half... snake? fish? leers at you.

  
"Looks like I chose a good time to show up. ; )"

  
And here you were just starting to think you were safe...

  
Ah, the Underground. Truly the most tsundere of places.

 

 

 


	12. Frisk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i didn't link [THESE BEAU](http://betraeyal.tumblr.com/post/141298167022)[TIFUL FANARTS](http://betraeyal.tumblr.com/post/141244457812) by [betraeyal](betraeyal.tumblr.com) in the notes last chapter, but [here they are.](http://betraeyal.tumblr.com/post/141019864952) GO LOOK AT THEM JUST DO IT!!!

 

 

  
Frisk sends another text, but you're not answering. You can be so stubborn sometimes, jeez! And you're even worse when you're mad at somebody. You really shouldn't be going anywhere in Waterfall by yourself, it's too dangerous, and you could get yourself in big trouble.

 

The other times Frisk came to the Underground, before this time, they didn't have to worry too much about dying. Not after the first few times, when they figured out that they didn't stay dead. It was still pretty scary for a while, though. And sometimes it really, really hurt and it made them sad because they had to get killed by their friends.

 

But Frisk doesn't know what might happen if _you_ die. They make sure to Save allllll the time, but... What if they Load from a Save and you're back in the Aboveground instead of with them? What if they have to try this all over again from the beginning? Or, worse, what if you stay dead? What if they Reset and you still don't come back? It's not something they want to risk. That was the whole point of practicing before they brought you to the Underground with them.

 

Frustrated, they backhand a whoopee cushion off their stool and climb up. The easygoing (but phoney!) smile on Sans' face stiffens a little as he takes his usual seat, too. Frisk orders two burgers and puts some coins on the bar, but Grillby shakes his head at their money and disappears into the back.

 

"hey, maybe i should work here for a day, if grillbz is givin' free food out to part-timers." Sans winks at Frisk, but they ignore his comment.

 

 _"Chara said you have to bring me back to Waterfall when we're done,"_ they sign to him, their eyes hard. _"They said if you make me walk they'll rip off your skull and fill it with rocks and drop it off of a bridge in Hotland."_ Frisk is paraphrasing, but they're mad at Sans too and they don't think your threat is scary enough. He's being so mean to you, for no reason, and now he's putting you in danger by separating the two of you.

 

"wow," he says, his chuckles sounding forced, "is your sibling always such a _hot head_?" They just frown at him until he sighs and shrugs. "ok, ok. don't worry, kiddo, i won't leave you out in the _cold_."

 

Frisk nods, satisfied with his answer, and waits for him to say what he needs to say. They hope he skips the ketchup gags this time. He'll ask if they know about echo flowers and tell them about one that talks to Papyrus, and it'll be so obvious he's talking about Flowey that it won't even be funny. Then, they can get back to Waterfall and Frisk can make sure you're safe.

 

He asks Grillby for a bottle of ketchup when he comes back without ordering any burgers or fries, which is promising, but then he just rolls it between his hands without opening it. After a long minute of fidgeting, he sets it down and looks at Frisk, his usual smile firmly in place but missing any real happiness around the eyes.

 

"your, uh, 'sibling,'" he begins, and there's something strange about the way he says it but they don't really know what it is. "tell me about them."

 

Frisk hums. This is different. This isn't how going to Grillby's with Sans is supposed to go. They're confused and kinda worried, but maybe this is a good thing? Maybe he's finally giving you a chance and trying to get to know you? _"What do you want to know?"_ they sign.

 

He pops the cap off his ketchup bottle and takes a swig. "you guys have been living together for four years, right? where did they live before that?"

 

 _"With another foster family."_ From what you said about it, it wasn't a very nice place, but they don't tell Sans that. It's nothing he can help with anymore.

 

He makes a rolling gesture with one hand. "and before that?"

 

 _"Another foster home. Chara said that one had a nice mom, but she only liked taking care of little kids, so she said Chara had to leave when they got too old."_ Thinking about it makes Frisk scowl. No matter what you say, getting rid of a kid because they got bigger doesn't sound very nice to them.

 

"hmmm..." is all Sans says about it. He stares into his bottle. "and how about before that?"

 

Frisk's hands are still for a moment, pressed flat against the smoke-stained wood of the bar on either side of their bag of burgers. They don't really know how to answer the question this time, and they kinda don't think they should. You're the only one who might be able to answer. You don't talk about it much; not because anything very bad happened, not that you ever mention at least, but because there really isn't a lot to say. Or, rather, because nobody really knows much of anything about it for sure.

 

 _"I don't know,"_ they sign after a minute. _"That was before I was born. You have to ask Chara."_

 

"hmmm," is all he says, again. He slouches back against the bar, swinging his feet and looking almost bored, but the lights in his eyesockets are bright and narrow.

 

Frisk waits another minute for him to ask another question, and starts to get mad again when he doesn't. If that's all he wants to ask, he should take them back to Waterfall already. There's no telling where you might be by now, although they hope you weren't really serious about going on without them.

 

"are you sure?" he asks, just as they're lifting their hands to sign. They give him a questioning look and he tries again. "are you sure chara lived in those places before they lived with you? do you have proof?"

 

The word 'insinuate' isn't in Frisk's vocabulary yet, but if it was, they wouldn't like what he's insinuating. He's asking if you could have lied to them about your life before they met you. Why would you even do that? Just what kind of person does he think you are?

 

They turn away from Sans without a word and unzip your backpack to pull out your tablet. If he wants proof, they can give him proof. You used to have an off-brand digital camera (you probably stole it) before it got lost (or probably stolen again) and while most of the pictures on its memory card were lost with it, you had uploaded a few dozen to somewhere on the internet. When you got your tablet, you put some of them on it to use as wallpapers. Some of them were from forever ago, before Frisk met you. They tap and slide their fingers on the screen until they've pulled up the right album, and slide the tablet in front of Sans.

 

The first picture is a selfie of fifteen-year-old you, wearing a really bad Freddie Krueger costume and holding a four-year-old Frisk, who is dressed as a tiny Jason Voorhees. Over your shoulder in the background is a large figure in a very good Micheal Myers costume, with a realistic fake machete poised to strike. You and Frisk seem oblivious, smiling for the camera.

 

Sans manifests semi-solid magic at the tip of his finger and swipes to the next picture. It's a candid shot of you and three smaller children, all riding bicycles on a cracked sidewalk. Their bikes all have training wheels and yours doesn't. You're looking back over your shoulder at something not in frame, your mouth half open in a shout. You're wearing denim overalls over a green and yellow tie-dye shirt and you're no older than thirteen.

 

The next picture is of a group of kids, posing for the camera by a small, crowded public pool. You're a little hard to spot at first, because your hair is cropped close to the scalp and you're looking sideways at the rest of the group instead of straight on. You're the only kid wearing shorts and a striped tank top instead of a swimsuit and while you're older than most of the other kids, you're only about twelve. Next to you stands a woman in her forties and Frisk's face scrunches up in dislike when they look at her.

 

Sans slides the tablet back to them. _"Is that enough?"_ they sign, swiping to another picture. This one is of you holding a toddler to your scrawny chest. You're laughing and even though there's still tears on her chubby brown cheeks, she's laughing too. Your yellow shirt has a green graphic design on it. You're twelve in this one, as well.

 

"yeah, that's enough," Sans mutters thoughtfully. He sets his ketchup bottle, still mostly full, on the bar and hops down from his stool. "i also wanted to ask you... eh, nevermind, i guess i forgot. anyway, c'mon, kiddo, let's get you back to your sibling before they lose their _cool_ , ok?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Frisk is back in Waterfall a few minutes later. Sans says something about being late for his third job and walks back toward Snowdin, although they know his third sentry post is in Hotland.

 

You're not in the room where they last saw you, the one with the echo flower and Monster Kid, so Frisk sends you another text, because maybe you've calmed down enough to answer. They wait for a few minutes but there's no response. Rolling their eyes in annoyance, they head into the next room, hoping you're just sulking somewhere nearby.

 

They duck through the waterfall to grab the old tutu on the floor behind it and stuff it into your backpack, then check the lower walkway. You're not there, either, but the echo flower has a different message than it usually does. It sounds like a really echoy voice distantly screaming _"DAMMIT!!"_ and a few other words that you'd have to put money in the swear jar for saying.

 

That... probably isn't good. Frisk is getting a really bad feeling about this. They chew their lip as they hurry to the next room.

 

Nobody is in this one, but in the middle of the tall grass patch, they stumble into a huge dent in the plants. They're not cut off, they're bent over like in a crop circle, like something big and heavy was dropped there. Like... maybe a... _body_?

 

Worried, Frisk pulls out their phone again and calls you. You two always text back and forth, so when they call you instead, that means they need you, right then. No matter what you're doing or who you're with, when you hear Frisk's special ringtone, that's the signal for you to drop everything and answer. They hold their breath as they punch the speed dial button for your number and listen to one ring, then two, and-

 

_"WE'D RATHER MAKE OUR CHILDREN (we request to negotiate) MARTYRS THAN MURDERERS! (we come to you unarmed)-"_

 

They jump back when your phone goes off right under their feet, and they fall to their knees to fish it out of the tall grass. Oh, no _no nonono!_ You'd never just leave your phone somewhere. Now they know something terrible has happened to you.

 

There's a lump in their throat when they see the crack in your phone's casing. You'd always said it was 'a tough piece of...' Well, you used a word that Frisk doesn't like, but anyway, if your phone broke, something must have hit it really, really hard. And they know Undyne's probably strong enough to do it, and she should have been here not long ago...

 

You didn't know you were supposed to hide from her, so she must have seen you and attacked. Undyne is Frisk's friend. The two of them are supposed to be besties. But she doesn't know that she doesn't need to kill humans to break the barrier yet, and she'd kill you on sight. You're too hurt to dodge, and you don't know that the only way to beat her is to run away. You'd never stand a chance against her, and if the two of you fought here, you're definitely dead. Frisk's eyes fill with tears and they moan pitifully.

 

They reach inside themself, for that spark of power deep in their Soul. Should they Load from their last Save...? They don't know what might happen, whether you might not be here if they Load, but if you're dead, it's the only way they have to bring you back.

 

They hesitate. If you were dead there'd be a - they swallow hard past the lump in their throat - a body or blood or something. You wouldn't just turn to dust like a monster, there'd be some other sign besides some bent grass and a cellphone.

 

You're not a dummy; you'd heard people talking about how tough Undyne is, and Frisk is sure you'd be smart enough to run away if you bumped into her. They stuff your phone in their pocket, wipe their eyes and nose with their sleeve, puff up their little chest. They can't lose faith in you now.

 

The need to find you fills them with determination, and they take off running deeper into Waterfall.

 

 

 

 


	13. SOCK it to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earlier...

 

 

  
"And don't come near me ever again!!" you scream after Aaron's retreating back. He throws you one last terrified wink over his shoulder and disappears into a pool of water.

 

As your Soul settles back into your body, your knees wobble and you slump against a wall, relieved. Even though that creeper was mostly just checking you out while trying to get you to admire his muscles, he still managed to hit you a couple times. This is the first time you've taken hits to your Soul, and shiiiit, it fucking hurts! There is no way in hell you're letting Frisk do any more of these Fights. Not if that's what they go through.

 

But, still, you've managed to survive your first real Fight and scare off an opponent with nothing more than creative threats, and it fills you with determination. You catch your breath and plod along deeper into the caves. You come across another bridgeless gap between sections of dry land, but the stream there is already spanned by a line of strange, buoyant flowers lashed together by thorny vines. While they sink a little under your weight and you get another helping of water in your boots, you're able to cross without having to jump or swim.

 

The next room you come to is a bit darker than most of the others, but it's lit gently by several of those weird talking flowers. The ceiling is a hell of a lot higher here, and when you look up, you can see thousands of slowly pulsating blue crystals poking through the domed rock far above you. No two of them seem to pulse with the same frequency, but every few minutes, enough of their rhythms sync up that it makes the whole cavern throb like a heartbeat.

 

"Wow..." you whisper, momentarily awestruck.

 

Even though it seems almost alive, it also almost reminds you of the night sky, when you got to really see it the few times you'd been out camping in the countryside. And it seems like somebody else had the same idea, because when you finally tear your eyes away from the crystals, you spy a telescope set up in the corner. You decide not to mess with it, because it would be just your luck for somebody to claim you broke it later, and you don't want to draw any extra attention.

 

As you approach an archway into the next room, you notice a heavy slab of the same stone as the arch lying just on the other side. It must have once been a door, but now it's cracked through the middle like it was battered down and when you examine the arch itself, you find more thorny vines wedged in the grooves where the slab once rested. They're oddly green, now that you're really looking at them. All of the other plants you've seen in Waterfall so far have been mossy and blackish or glowy and blue. These are... almost cartoonishly...

 

Wait. You've seen vines like these before. Back when you first ran into- Oh, no.

 

"Howdy!" chirps one of the last voices on the planet you want to hear. Seriously, you'd gladly take a whole room full of Sans (Sanses? Sansi?) right now over this little fucker. Your hand clamps down on a vine and the sting of its barbs prickling your fingers is enough to keep you from crying out or whirling around.

 

You cautiously turn to face Flowey, clenching your fists, ready to... you're not sure. You don't really know what you can do if he attacks, with your ribs the way they are. For some reason you can't comprehend, you sorta wish you had your backpack with you. The flower doesn't make any threatening moves; he just smiles at you brightly, swaying cheerfully from side to side, putting on that mock-innocent act again. "Say, where's that other kid you were with?" he asks and then immediately dismisses his own question. "Ah, well, they don't matter."

 

"What do you want?" you demand, watching him warily, your eyebrows bunching up in irritation.

 

His petals flutter in delight, and his smile curls up more at the corners. "Hee hee hee! That look in your eyes..." he giggles. "You really ARE them. You're Chara, right?" The tips of his leaves are pressed to whatever he has instead of cheeks in almost childlike glee and you're not sure if that weirds you out more than him somehow knowing your name or what.

 

"Yeah...?" you say cautiously. "What's it to you?"

 

Flowey lets out a tinkling laugh that you might think was cute if you didn't know better. "Hahaha! I don't blame you for not recognizing me, Chara! A lot has happened since way back then." He makes a vague gesture with his leaves that seems to encompass his entire body, and then his gaze sharpens as he looks you over. "And you've changed so much, too! I'm sorry about back there, in the Ruins," he tells you, sounding less sorry about it than he does like he's just saying that to convince you not to retaliate. "I just never expected you to show up in a grown up body like this. You'll have to tell me how you pulled that one off."

 

He darts into the ground, faster than your eyes can track, and you stumble backwards when he pops up again, right at your feet. There's a predatory look behind his eyes when he peers through your chest and his grin has more pointy teeth in it than it did a second ago. "And you have a whole new Soul in there, too! Boy, you really are just full of surprises this time." He settles back on his stem and his expression turns wheedling. "C'mon, tell me, how did you do it, huh?" he cajoles.

 

"F-fuck off, dude," you huff. You try to discreetly shift your weight to the balls of your feet, readying yourself to make a break for it. Flowey might be acting bizarrely nice(ish) at the moment, but you don't want to stick around and find out what the mercurial bastard's gonna do when he realizes you don't have a single shitting clue what he's talking about. At least, not without a young priest, an old priest, and an industrial-sized jug of Weed-B-Gone. "I don't have to tell you shit."

 

Anger flashes across his face and for an instant he's all fangs and sagging, gaping eyesockets, until your fist abruptly cocks back and your lips curl away from your teeth in a sardonic snarl, which is weird because you're definitely telling your body to flee right now. Halfway through your first jerky step toward the flower, he's already shrinking back from you. You pause and watch him through the hair hanging across your face.

 

"Uh, s-sure ya don't, Chara! I know the drill! Hee hee..." he titters merrily, but there's a fine sheen of sweat on his face that wasn't there before. You bring your fist back down to your side, slowly, your ribs sore and the muscles in your shoulder and arm suddenly stiff. "I... I've gotta prove I can be trusted, right??"

 

You nearly blurt out that there's nothing to tell and that he's insane, but you suppress the urge. If he thinks you've got something he wants, he's less likely to attack. Maybe. A longing for your backpack itches in the back of your mind again, and you stifle a sneeze.

 

Flowey smiles and winks at you, his tongue poking impishly from the corner of his mouth, and it reminds you of a picture you saw on the internet of a pair of googly eyes on a venus flytrap. "Listen," he says in a conspiratorial stage whisper, like a little kid sharing a naughty joke, "I have a plan to become all-powerful. And I'll be even more powerful with a new body and Soul of my own. So, I'll help you through this puzzle-filled dump, and then you can tell me how to do... Whatever you did to resurrect yourself. Does that sound like a deal?"

 

What the fuck...? Resurrect yourself? Since when had you ever been dead...?

 

The memory of a headache, the worst you can even begin to imagine, like a hot spike being driven through your eye to the back of your skull, flits through your mind, but it's gone before you can get more than the barest sense of it. It's just the concept of searing pain and the thought of how it feels when your throat is too scorched to breathe, and then poof. Like it was never there. You don't have time to chase the memory down, to figure out where you might have felt those things before, because what the flower said before you were distracted by the resurrection thing sinks in.

 

Oh, hell, no! That's a terrible idea. The thought of Flowey having the magic he already has is enough to curdle your guts. The last damn thing you want is for him to be anything even close to 'all-powerful.' And you want to tell him just that, along with some suggestions for where he can shove his offer to help with puzzles, but no matter what you try to say, you suddenly can't seem to make your jaw unclench. Your tongue writhes behind your teeth, but your voice won't come out. Flowey must take your silence as an agreement, because he's already cheering.

 

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he crows. "Oh, this is going to be such fun!"

 

His face twists gruesomely, like it's regurgitating itself inside out, and reforms into an unfamiliar one. This one is a goat monster, like Toriel but younger, and his eyes are flat and shiny, like polished black buttons. Shallow. Cold. Like beetles crawling across the face of a corp̵s̕e̛. It makes you sick to look into those eyes. If only you had something you could use to stab th̷em̸ ͏o͠u̸t̡-

 

Flowey laughs again, in a voice entirely different from the one he'd used before. It's sweeter, warmer, almost melodious, and it makes the taste of ashes creep up the back of your throat. "It's going to be just like old times! I knew we'd still be inseparable even after all these years!"

 

His face warps again, back to his normal, cutesy cartoon form, and he dives underground and is gone before you can blink. You stare at the little patch of disturbed soil for a long time and gnaw thoughtfully at your tongue, the faint sound of static fading from your ears.

 

\------

 

  
It's some time before you feel like you're all there again. You tune back in to find yourself being propelled across a short expanse of water on a tiny raft just big enough to fit both of your feet. Suddenly aware of how easily you could pitch overboard, you gasp and panic and almost send yourself face-first into the water. You have to flail your arms and contort your protesting body to keep yourself upright, and even then, you just barely manage to delay the fall until you make it the last few feet to the other side. You half-step, half-stumble onto the dock.

 

Ok, it's time to admit it, because this shit is just getting ridiculous. Something is wrong with you. You tried to convince yourself that what happened at Grillby's was just you falling asleep on your feet as a side-effect of waking up early, but you can't ignore the fact that ever since you ran into Flowey, you've been walking around in a daze even though you're not tired at all, just coasting along on instinct and vague determination to carry on with no input from your conscious mind.

 

Like, you know you passed a bunch of plaques on the cave wall earlier, and you know you stopped to read the glowy writing on them; you were standing there for a long time, but you can't remember a single thing that they said. You remember staring at a drawing of a monster on one of the plaques, and while your brain chose to engrave the creepy image into your memory in sharp, disturbing clarity, it's almost like the picture is layered over another that doesn't quite match up. Parts of the other image, whatever the hell it is, superimpose themselves into your memory and distort it into something even more grotesque, to the point where you can't stand to think about it for very long before your mind skitters off to some other thought in self-defense. The sourceless, nagging sensation that some part of your brain is trying to 'fix' the picture and make it 'right' by making it more 'wrong,' isn't helping matters at all.

 

And that's not mentioning those weird... spasms? you've been having. Because what the fuck was all that back there with Flowey? Why couldn't you make your body run away? Why couldn't you speak? Why did you feel like you weren't completely in the driver's seat of your own body?

 

You must be having some kind of seizures. It's the only explanation. You cracked your head harder than you thought when you fell into the Underground, and now you're bleeding in your brain or something and you're having seizures. You're going to die, The End, give all your stuff to Frisk, goodbye cruel world, and all that shit.

 

You burst out laughing. The stalactite-filled cavern around you picks up the sound and bounces it back to you, creating the impression that countless other yous are hiding in the shadows and laughing at you as well. Jeez, what a drama llama you are sometimes.

 

If there was something that wrong with you, Toriel definitely would have caught it when she was checking you over. Goat Mom examined you from stem to stern, and with healing magic, no less, and while she couldn't make it heal the bruising on your ribs and the cuts on your tongue - something about monster magic only being able to restore HP and not mend physical damage - she was able to probe around with it for underlying injuries. And even after she didn't find anything, she still hovered over you the whole time you and Frisk were in her home, changing your bandages more than strictly necessary and keeping you perpetually stuffed full of pie. If anything was going to go wrong with your body, she would have noticed.

 

No, if there's something wrong with you - and there very clearly is - you're sure it's not something purely medical. It seems a lot more likely that you're just having a bad reaction to all the stress you've been under. Like a psycho-symptomatic thing, or whatever the word is. You've been though too much crazy shit and you haven't gotten much chance to really process it and decompress and now it's manifesting as mental and physiological fuckery.

 

You snuffle and wipe at your runny nose with your soggy sleeve. Uggh. Fucking Flowey and his fucking pollen, triggering your fucking allergies. If there's one thing you hate more than just about anything, it's your damn allergies. Every spring is a mucus festival in your sinuses, and all your sneezes bring friends. Seems like you're allergic to everything, and...

 

Hold up. What if you're allergic to something in the Underground besides Flowey? Oh, god, what if you're allergic to _magic??_ That might actually make a little sense. It could maybe explain why there was black shit coming from your Soul when Sans used his magic on you that one time. And at least a few of these delirious spells have happened either during or soon after being around groups of monsters. And when you're around monsters, they always seem to dose you with their magic in one form or another, from Aaron's attacks, to Grillby's telepathy, to the fact that all of their food is apparently infused with fire magic.

 

You're just thinking that you need to get the hell out of the Underground before you really do die - whatever the magical equivalent of anaphylactic shock is, you DO NOT WANT - when the feeling that you're being watched hits you. A shiver skates down your spine, despite the muggy air, and you freeze mid-step in the middle of the dock. Your head turns so slowly the bones in your neck creak. Standing amid the stalagmites and shadows to your left is a towering suit of armor. An eye glints through the grill on the helmet's visor and bores into yours.

 

A rational person would probably be scared right now. You certainly were earlier. But all you really feel is resigned and tired. You're gonna have to run again, aren't you? Almost as an answer, your hip gives a twang of pain and you become aware of your ribs still aching.

 

"Fuck me sideways on Sunday," you groan. In weary defiance, you start walking again. It's been a long day, ok? You've been on your feet since early this morning. If Undyne is gonna make you run, she'll have to work for it. Oddly, she doesn't jump across the narrow divide between the solid ground she's on and the dock, but she does start walking as well, keeping pace alongside you.

 

You're about to holler a snarky comment at her about long walks on the beach when three glowing spears materialize in the air between the two of you with a crackle of magic. Oops, shit, alright, maybe you can walk a little faster, then. The spears spin aimlessly for a second before zooming toward you. You duck your head, but you needn't have bothered, because your brisk pace seems to be fast enough to put you out of their path just before they reach you and they miss.

 

If there's anything you'd learned from your Fight with Aaron, it's that monster attacks don't have to be dodged by very much for them to not do damage. So long as you stay a step ahead of Undyne's attacks and she says off the dock, you might be able to make it to somewhere you can lose her without having to run. You notice that she's not terribly accurate with her spears, too. She seems to be aiming for where you are and not where you're going to be, and they fly in such straight lines, it makes you think that she probably can't steer them once she launches them.

 

You make it most of the way down the dock, listening to the _vworrrp-whoosh-splish_ of the attacks hurtling past your head and then disappearing into the water behind you, and only having to dodge where the pier makes sudden, inexplicable turns that keep you in harm's way for just an instant too long. When you're not keeping your eyes on incoming spears, you're watching Undyne closely instead. With every unsuccessful attack, she stomps her feet harder and growls louder, getting more and more frustrated at her inability to hit you.

 

"GRRRRRAAAAH! Would you hold STILL?!" she finally bellows, headbutting a stalagmite taller than herself clean in half. Her helmet rings like a bell.

 

You stick the crook of your elbow over your mouth and make the loudest fart sound you can at her. "Lol, no friggin' way!" you call back without stopping.

 

Undyne stumbles and almost falls on her face the way someone in an anime might, but it doesn't quite seem organic; it looks almost rehearsed somehow. "Oh my god, did you just say 'lol' OUT LOUD, you giant NERD?!"

 

"Who are you calling a nerd??" You dig in your pocket and pull out your socks. You'd thought earlier that your boots might dry out faster if your socks weren't in them, holding water inside, so you'd stripped them off and carried them instead. Now you ball one up. "At least I'm not some scrub that doesn't know how to lead a target," you sneer, wind up, and pitch the sock.

 

It hits Undyne's breastplate with a wet slap, which makes the sharp pain the sudden movement causes in your ribs 1000% worth it. She halts in her tracks, stunned. There's a long moment where her helmet slowly tilts down, you guess that she's looking at the sock where it landed on the ground, and then her head snaps back up and her eye flashes dangerously behind her visor. Oh, um. Shit. That was probably not such a good idea. Dammit, why do you have to do such stupid crap all the time?

 

"WHAT THE HELL, PUNK??!"

 

Undyne roars and lunges across the water and onto the dock, two spears appearing in her fists with a sizzle of static electricity you can feel in your hair follicles. You dive out of the way as the full weight of her and her armor crashes down on the wooden planks. She looms over you menacingly for an instant and you gulp, certain that you're staring your death in the face, but then the dock cracks and splinters under Undyne's feet. She gives an unexpectedly high, girly squeak, and plummets through and into the water below with an almighty splash.

 

You think for a moment that this must be why she didn't just jump over in the first place; she's native to Waterfall, so she's got to know which structures and rock formations are unstable or structurally weak, right? Which ones wouldn't take her weight. Jeez, this chick has got one hell of a short temper if you can make her do something that dumb just by throwing a sock at her.

 

Wait a sec.

 

There is no way Undyne's gonna be able to swim in that armor. Can she even breathe under water? You scoot to the broken edge and peer down into the depths. You know she's a fish monster, but that doesn't automatically mean that she's able to do all the same stuff as a regular fish. Like, Papyrus and Sans are skeleton monsters, but there are lots of differences between them and actual skeletons. What if Undyne drowns? She's trying to take your Soul, but she's just doing her job, it's not personal, and also you're pretty sure negligent homicide is a thing. Should you get help?

 

You're trying to think of who you could even get to help and patting your pockets for your phone (which you remember you dropped, you fucking idiot) when a gauntlet shoots out of the water, nearly bopping you in the face, and grabs the edge of the dock. Undyne pulls herself to the surface, not even gasping for air even though she's been under water for nearly a minute. Guess she can breathe after all.

 

"Oh, good! You didn't die," you say with genuine relief and almost no scarcasm, and climb to your feet. "Well, if you're gonna be ok, I'm just gonna make like a tree and get the fuck out of here, so byeeee."

 

A confused "Wha-" is all Undyne gets out before the plank she's holding on to gives way and she grabs for the next, only for it to break too. She curses and disappears into the water again as the dock loses the last of it's structural integrity and begins to collapse in earnest in an avalanche of wood shards and nails. You scramble away, at some points on all fours, as the boards fall out from under you one after another. Once or twice your hip won't bend right and you stumble and are almost dragged down, but you manage to reach the end and solid ground, where you gracelessly trip over probably nothing and land on your face in the squishy moss.

 

Winded, you lie there, clutching at your ribcage and groaning, not even caring about the bits of mud that ended up in your mouth and nostrils. Fffffuck, shit like this needs to stop happening today. If you have to run one more time, you're going to lose your damn mind. Some counter-productive part of your brain wishes you could just rip out your ribs and be done with them hurting.

 

You don't get much time to regroup, because a colossal clanking sound shakes the ground under your ear and you know Undyne is about to be all up in your Koolaid if you don't get your ass in motion. Reluctantly, you get up and stagger ahead, thankfully coming to another stand of reeds, and you scuttle on your belly into them. Hiding worked well enough last time, so maybe if you do that right off the bat, you'll get lucky twice. You hunker down as quickly as you can, and not a moment too soon.

 

Undyne nearly steps on you as she tromps through the tall grass. Water pours from the gaps in her armor and one huge sabaton comes down right in front of your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut and wish you didn't have to breathe so much. One of her gauntlets plunges into the reeds and gropes around; you can feel it brush against the tips of your hair for a second before it closes around something solid and slowly drags it up into the open. Her magic spear buzzes and zaps in her hand.

 

There's a beat of silence.

 

"What the f- heck? This ain't no place for twerps," you hear Undyne bark. Something thuds to the ground close to your head and part of it, a tail or a foot perhaps?, bonks you upside your temple. "Go home, Kid."

 

She turns and leaves, her stomps and grumbles fading into the distance. You stay still while you catch your breath and wait until you're sure she's gone. Monster Kid is leaning over you when you open your eyes. You should have guessed they would be here.

 

"Hey, Chara!" they chirp. "What's up?" You're pretty sure they're grinning; you can see their teeth glint in what little light makes it through the grass. You gingerly sit up, trying hard not to twist your torso too much.

 

"Y'know, nothing much, I guess," you mutter noncommittally because they're already too busy gushing about Undyne and showing off their eye, which is rapidly swelling shut.

 

"Can you believe she just TOUCHED MY FACE?? This is the GREATEST day EVER!! I'm never gonna wash my eyes again!" they cheer. They let you turn their head this way and that as you examine the injury, making sure it's just a shiner and nothing more serious. The skin around their other eye is already purple and you point at it.

 

"What happened there?"

 

MK's narrow chest puffs up with pride. "Oh MAN, Undyne tripped over me earlier! It was the BEST, YO!! She did this AWESOME flip thing and kept running and it didn't even slow her down! Too bad you ran off and missed it." They tut and shake their head, giving you a pitying look.

 

"Yeah, well, y'know..." you mumble.

 

So MK got hurt because of you. Twice. Shame churns in your belly. If you weren't such a broken-down sadsack, you'd probably be through Waterfall by now, or at least back in Snowdin with Frisk, and MK wouldn't keep getting caught between you and Undyne like this. Plus, you remember something else to feel guilty for, on top of it.

 

"Hey, speaking of earlier..." You clear your throat sheepishly. "Sorry for cussing like that."

 

MK cocks their head to the side quizzically, like a bird. "That's ok, I guess," they say. "I don't even know what a motherfu- _mnph?!"_

 

You clap your hand over their mouth yet again before they can finish saying the word. _"Haha it means nothing don't worry about it ahahaHAHA!!"_ you cry as they struggle.

 

God, why are you ever allowed to be around other peoples' children?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, and btw i'm writing another fic! it will be sans/female reader, but the reader character will not be a named character, the fic is post-pacifist, and it's... well, it's not technically a slow burn, because there's going to be smut in the first chapter, but... ;D  
> anyway, the chapters of this second fic are going to be super long, and will take a long time to post, so it will have a 'slow to update' tag. it doesn't take place in the dancetale universe, but has some strong dancetale themes, so there's that. and i'm not sure what the title is going to be, because i'm terrible with titles. the only thing i've come up with so far is _Teacher's Pet_ , because the reader character is a teacher, but that's so fucking cliché and it doesn't even really fit because sans isn't her student and, just, uggggh. i hate naming things XD


	14. Back Down

 

 

  
You and MK split up again after you get them to promise to never say _that_ word,  ever, even though it means Nothing At All™. No sir! Just some silly, nonsensical gibberish they should never, _ever_ say. Yup!

 

Ugh...

 

You're definitely going to Hell.

 

Which might just be this next room, you think. Because you pass through one of those wooden archways commonly found in mine shafts, and lo and behold, Sans is there.

 

He's leaning against the wall next to a tripod telescope, evidently asleep. His head is tipped back on his shoulders and there's glowing blue drool trailing from the corner of his perpetual grin. Frisk is nowhere in sight.

 

You ~~limp~~ storm up to Sans and jab your finger hard into what would be his solar plexus, snapping him awake with a snort. "Hey! Trashlord! Where the fuck is my sibling?" you demand. You swear to shit and all that is stinky that if he hurt them, you're going to use one of his ulnae to pry out his vertebrae, one by one.

 

He makes a big show of stretching and scrubbing at his mouth with his sleeve before he answers. "hmmm? you mean they didn't _ketchup_ to you yet? guess i shouldn't be too sur _fries_ ed," he yawns while brushing at the front of his hoodie, as if your touch left behind a distasteful residue. You are severely unimpressed by his fast food puns as you stare him down with a threatening glare, which is probably rendered less effective by the way you're hugging yourself around the middle to try and ease the pain in your side.

 

"I specifically told them to tell you to bring them back to me when you were done at Grillby's," you hiss, your eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

 

Sans' smile quirks into one that's a little patronizing and a lot mocking. "noooo, you told them to tell me to bring them back to waterfall. and i did. i brought them back to the room where we left you." He turns away from you to fiddle with his telescope. "how was i supposed to guess where you'd be, if not there? it was pretty stupid of you to wander away from the last place i saw you. seems to me like you _mustard_ have gotten yourself into this _pickle_."

 

"Well. Yeah, but..."

 

...Damn. He's actually got you there. You were the one who charged ahead without making a plan or establishing a rendezvous point and then lost your phone. But still, having Sans of all people point it out, and with puns no less, really chafes your taint.

 

"Don't... Don't counter my arguments with logic when I'm yelling at you, asshole," you bluster. You shove a hand through your hair, exasperated. "Just. Go. Get them."

 

The lights in his eyesockets cut over to you. "y'know, that's not a very nice way to ask for a favor, pal." He straightens from his telescope and tugs up his sleeve, glancing at his bare wrist bones like there's a watch there. "but, speaking of people barking orders at me, would you just look at the time. i've gotta get to work before i'm even more late. good thing undyne's too busy hunting humans to check up on me, huh?"

 

He gives you an infuriatingly smug eyebrow waggle and a wink and strolls off, neatly dodging the grab you make for his hoodie and disappearing into the shadows. Slippery bastard. A second after you think he's gone, "and don't mess with my telescope!" echoes out of the darkness and makes you jump.

 

"Yeah, yeah, nobody wants to mess with your crummy telescope," you shout back. You wait a few more moments until you know Sans is gone for real, look around to make sure there are no witnesses, and then pop the eyepiece off the telescope. Stretching up as high as you can, you wedge the eyepiece into a crack in the wall. There! Let's see his stubby little arms reach that. You feel a faint stab of conscience for a second as you walk away, but you quickly wave it aside. If Sans wants to be an ass, this is just what he gets.

 

The water in the next room glows a serene blue and lights your way, which is a godsend because you are certain you would have gotten all turned around in the maze of dead ends and bridges if it were any darker. It also lets you see that you've somehow gotten bright pink paint all over your hands. As you wash your hands in the (hopefully not radioactive) glowing water, you experience a phantom vibration against your leg, as if your phone was ringing in your pocket. You slap your wet hand to the spot the instant before you remember again that you don't have your phone anymore.

 

It... seemed so real. So real you could have sworn you heard some kind of chiming, too. "Huh. Weird," you mutter.

 

" _Huh. Weird_ ," mumbles a nearby flower.

 

"Sweet zombie Jesus!" you cry, startled.

 

" _Sweet zombie Jesus!_ " the flower yells back.

 

You drag your hand over your face. Oh. Oh, shit. You forgot about these flowers. Nobody ever told you what they're called, but they echo stuff back and if they're not called echo flowers, you'll eat your remaining sock. This one just scared the crap out of you.

 

But, it gives you an idea and once you recover from your mini heart attack, you give the flower a new message, smiling when it repeats it back to you verbatim in a higher, reedy version of your voice. You carry on with a little more energy.

 

You're walking down another dock when a number of ropy yellow tentacles rise from the luminous water and wriggle through the air. The phrase "I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going" runs through your mind, almost reflexively, and you shudder. God, you hope that's not where this is going...

 

Luckily it isn't. The monster that ascends from the depths is a perfectly harmless, if somewhat annoying, anime... octopus... thing. You chat with them for a few minutes since they seem really eager to talk (like, really, _desperately_ eager) before you have to gently but firmly excuse yourself. There's still progress to be made and if you're being entirely honest, their voice was starting to give you the beginnings of a headache.

 

There's another fish monster humming to themself in a corner, but you manage to pass by without encountering them.

 

You find a piano in a dead end room and let your fingers brush over the dusty keys, picking out a halting rendition of Taps before you backtrack out. As the dirge echoes mournfully into the distance, you wish you had taught yourself something more cheerful. _I'm a Little Teapot_ or _Camptown Races_ or literally anything else. But oh, no, fourteen-year-old you had to be a mopey little shit and you taught yourself to play Taps and only Taps on every instrument you came across, then never had the time or inclination to learn to play a single other song in the years since.

 

The next cavern is a vast and, well, cavernous space filled with inky blackness. No glowing water for mood lighting here, so you have to pause to let your eyes adjust again. The ceiling vaults high up and away as soon as you step through, and far above you the stalactites drip trickles of water that fall in a striking imitation of rain.

 

There's so much space around you that, for the first time since Snowdin, you can't hear your footsteps echoing back to you. It actually makes you a little uneasy when you notice how the still air swallows up the sound. You clear your throat loudly, hoping to hear it echo so you can shake off the eerie feeling, and when that doesn't work you decide, fuck it.

 

You cup your hands around your mouth, shout "Hello!" into the void, then listen. And wait.

 

And... nothing.

 

There's just the patter of false rain, and even that sounds too flat to you. Like the darkness is snapping up and devouring everything sent into it, and will never allow anything to return, not even echoes.

 

You try again. A deeper breath in and a louder shout, even though it makes the pain in your chest flare. "HELLO!!"

 

"Hi!"

 

Game Over. You died.

 

Oh look, you're going into rigor mortis now. Must be why your body is locked up and you're not breathing and your face is cold. Good night sweet... Uh, whatever the gender neutral equivalent of 'prince' is. It's been fun knowing you.

 

Your heart trips over itself for a beat and then hammers against your sternum so hard your blood pressure could probably be measured in pounds per square inch. Since your hands are already cupped in front of your face, you clamp them over your own mouth for a change and stifle the embarrassing screech that tries to burst out of you. Your eyes land on the familiar scaly form of MK, standing beside a basket of umbrellas that you hadn't noticed before.

 

Literally shaking, you sink down to sit on the wet purple-black moss and just breathe for a minute. MK sits with you, their tail waving cheerfully. "Haha, guess I scared you, huh, Chara?" they laugh. "I scare my sister like that all the time. You're just as jumpy as she is, dude! ...Yo, uh, are you ok?" They duck their head, a little guilty.

 

"Yeah... Yeah. Yes." You clear your throat and rub some feeling back into your cheeks. "I'll be fine, you just scared the... I-I didn't see you there."

 

MK stares at their feet, tapping their toes together rhythmically. "Sorry, dude, I didn't mean-"

 

"It was an accident," you wave aside their apology before they can feel too bad about it. "No harm done. I just assumed I was alone and I was kinda... lost in my thoughts, I guess." You look back the way you came and wonder how far behind your sibling is. You've done your best to clear the way for them, but now that you've run dry of the spite that spurred you into running off half-cocked in the first place, you're beginning to consider the merits of turning back. "I always think too much and creep myself out when I don't have Frisk with me."

 

MK seems to accept the reassuring grin you give them and relaxes. "Oh, yeah! Where are they, anyway? I thought they'd be with you."

 

"They went back to Snowdin with Sans to get lunch. I decided to go on ahead. Kinda wanted to make it to Hotland today, but now I'm thinking I might go back and get them." It doesn't seem fair to dump your anger at Sans or your worries about your health on MKid, so you keep that shit to yourself.

 

"Are you gonna go to the Riverperson, then?" they ask, and you die inside a little because you have no idea who that is or why going to see them would be a logical move for you. It must be something you'd know if you were a monster, and since you're not a monster you don't know how to answer. At a loss, you fall back on the time-tested smile-and-nod technique.

 

"Ahaha, yup! You know it!" You throw in a wink and a finger pistol, just to be extra convincing. "Just gotta go to the, uh, Riverperson, and then I can go find Frisk."

 

"Yo, after you have them ferry you back to Snowdin, you should ask them to take you to Hotland, too-"

 

"There's a FERRY?!" you blurt, like the dumbest of asses. MK looks at you like you've grown an extra head.

 

"Um? No duh? Everybody knows about the Riverperson's ferry."

 

You mentally kick yourself and scramble for a way to cover your fuckup. "Oh, yeah, right! Haha, I guess I'm such a city person, I just forget about stuff outside of Home."  

 

"New Home."

 

"What...?"

 

"You told Laurel at the shop that you're from the capitol. The capitol city hasn't been Home for a long time, it's New Home." MK's scaled brows bunch together in an expression that is edging from confusion toward suspicion and you can feel cold sweat pop out on your skin. _Christ_ , you are bad at this. If it was just making excuses to your foster parents for why your clothes smell like weed, or to your skeleton friend for why you can't eat inedible pasta, you wouldn't be having this much trouble. As it turns out, it's a lot harder to lie to a monster child about being a monster yourself, especially when you know so little about monsters and the Underground.

 

"Ah, yeah, I know. I just, uh, I've never been to Home, so New Home is the only Home I know, y'know? I just call New Home 'Home' for short, because it's my, uh, my home." You realize how frantically you're gesticulating, and you lever yourself up to stand so you can jam your hands in your pockets to keep them still. "Anyway, I really need to find Frisk, so I'd better get going. Umm..." Shit, which way do you need to go?? You don't remember passing a ferry, so maybe it's up ahead?  

 

You grab an umbrella out of the umbrella stand and open it, mostly to stall while you try to decide what you should do and then, completely guessing, you take a few wooden steps in the direction you were already going.

 

That must be the right choice, because MK rolls to their feet and trots along beside you. Their mouth is still quirked into an uncertain frown, but they do something with their head and spine that resembles a shrug and seem to shake it off.  

 

"Ok, dude, if you say so," they mumble as you tilt the umbrella so it shields them from the "rain" too. You really need to stop hanging out with this kid; they might be pretty naive and trusting, but they're bound to catch on soon if things keep going this way.

 

Maybe you can distract them. You try to come up with something to talk about that's completely unrelated. "Soooo, ummm... P-Papyrus is pretty cool, huh?" ...Weak, Chara. What the literal hell?

 

"The tall skeleton guy? Hmmm. He's ok, I guess. He's not as cool as Undyne. NOBODY'S cooler than Undyne, yo!" Aha! MK's eyes begin to glimmer with the fanaticism you'd seen in them earlier and you know that if you keep them on this topic, they'll be happy to stay on it instead of questioning whether you're actually a monster.

 

 "Oh, I dunno about that. Papyrus is super nice, and he's a really good friend, _and_ he makes All the spaghetti, Ever. I think he might be The Coolest."

 

MK sputters like you've just suggested that the ceiling was made of packing peanuts and chocolate mousse. "Yo, Undyne is the Captain of the whole ROYAL GUARD, dude! She's SUPER tough and she can beat up EVERYBODY, FOREVER!! Well, not, like, innocent people. She's too cool to beat up innocent people, but she can beat up ALL of the bad guys! AT ONCE! So that's why she's THE Coolest!!"  

 

They're smiling and when you smile back, you don't have to fake it much at all. The two of you have what is essentially a good-natured "My dad could beat up your dad" brag-off as you walk together. Heavy water droplets bounce off your umbrella and every now and then MK skips out ahead of you to splash in a puddle, seemingly unbothered by the idea of getting wet. They trip over their own feet a couple times and faceplant on the soggy ground, but they bounce back up so fast that you never even get the chance to ask them if they're alright before they're chattering away again.

 

Your glowing praise for Papyrus gets more and more ridiculous as you inevitably begin to exaggerate, but you're sure at least some of what MK says about Undyne is exaggerated, too. You don't care what they say, you can not believe that she can throw Greater Dog with one hand. You've met Greater Dog. He might be tiny out of his armor, but inside it he's fucking _heavy_. He almost crushed you and Frisk when Frisk convinced you to stop and play with him.

 

"Yeah, well Papyrus can bench press TEN whole - Oh My God, WHOA!!" You happen to look out from underneath your umbrella at one point and your brain short-circuits at what you see.  

 

The path you're on has come alongside the shoreline of a truly colossal subterranean lake. On the far side a gigantic marble castle stands like a sentinel, complete with turrets and parapets, and high above it all, millions of crystals glimmer among the stones of the cavern roof like a captive galaxy. Everything, the crystals, the water, even the castle, glows a placid blue.  

 

"It's so beautiful... I've never seen anything like it. Wow......"

 

The sheer scale of it all takes your breath away. How could anything like this exist down here? How the hell are you ever going to go home and live your life knowing that all of this is under your feet? That nobody else will ever know it's there?

 

And here you are without your phone. You can't even take a crappy, grainy selfie. Maybe you can get Frisk to come back here later so you can take a picture with their phone.

 

"That's... The King's castle... In New Home..." MK says slowly.  

 

You almost say something mindless like "Cool!" before the implications of what you've said hit you. A cold feeling settles in your chest, like you've swallowed an ice cube. You can see MK backing away from you out of the corner of your eye before you cover your face with your hand. A monster who lives in New Home should fucking well be able to recognize the King's castle. Fucking goddammit, shit.  

 

"Yo, you're- You're a-"

 

"Stupid blabbermouth," you lament into your palm.

 

"You're a HUMAN!!" MK cries. You scrub your hand down your face and look at them. Their eyes are wide with betrayal and fear, and they glance around frantically, like they're searching for an escape route. When they look back up at you and shrink in on themself, you guess that you're blocking the only way they can go and you honestly feel terrible about that. It would be best if they just ran away and went home. 

 

You sigh through your nose, your lips pulled into a grim line. "Yeah, sorry, I'm a human. You got me. You'd better go get Undyne, yeah?" You scoot to the lake side of the path and turn to gaze out toward the castle, in hopes of giving MK a chance to get by behind you.

 

"Yo, why haven't you tried to kill me?!" they shout instead and you whip your head around to gape at them. You can see their tail still trembling behind them, but their head is lowered to brandish their nubby spikes and they're putting on what they probably think is a brave face.

 

Your eyebrows climb toward your hairline. They can't be serious. What are they, _disappointed_? "I... don't wanna?"

 

MK growls in a way they obviously copied from Undyne, but it lacks her level of genuine aggression. "Grrrah! Humans are BAD GUYS! You're supposed to kill monsters for no reason and say mean stuff! We're... we're supposed to be ENEMIES!"

 

"Um. Well, I'm not gonna do any of that stuff. Just." You flap your hand at them. "Go home, Kid. Go find Undyne or something. I won't stop you." You shuffle forward some more so you can carefully sit down on a relatively dry spot and dangle your legs over the edge of the path where it drops away to the shoreline below. It isn't that far of a drop. If you wanted to, you could safely jump down to the sand and take a dip in the lake, but with your ribs the way they are, you're not sure you could make the climb back up.

 

"No, no!" MK shakes their head and stomps their feet in frustration. "Yo, you have to say something mean and then I can hate you and we can be enemies!" You realize that they're prompting you. There's a specific scenario they're trying to play out, and you wonder if it's something they saw on tv or if they thought it up themself. If this was one of your baby siblings trying to get you to go along with some story or another, you'd probably think it was cute. This is just making you sad.

 

"Nah," you say and turn away to look out over the lake again.

 

There's a few seconds of flabbergasted silence. "Why??"

 

You shrug. "Don't feel like it."

 

"But WHY?? Why aren't you being BAD? W-Why have you been so NICE to me? Why did you S-SAVE ME before?? Humans are EVIL!!" Their voice is thick like they're trying not to cry. You really hope they don't. You can't stand to hear kids cry when you can't cheer them up, and you don't think they'd be ok with you trying to comfort them right now. 

 

"Look, Kid... I'll level with you." You pull your good leg up so you can wrap your arm around it and rest your chin on your knee. Huddled under your umbrella, you bet you look like the world's most bedraggled tortoise. "I used to feel the same way. I... _hated_  humans. I was afraid of what all the 'evil' humans would do to me. I wanted to scream and fight and hurt everyone around me until I was alone, so I could be safe. But, you know what?"  

 

You shift so the side of your head is resting on your knee and you can look directly at MK. They're standing a bit closer now; they must have taken some 'menacing' steps toward you at some point, but you hadn't been watching. You feel an odd swell of pride in them. Even though they're obviously scared of you now, they're being very brave by trying to stand up to you anyway.

 

There are "rain" drops dripping from their spikes and their mouth works like they want to speak but aren't sure what to say, so you continue. "After a while, I realized something: None of us humans are completely evil. Don't get me wrong," you say quickly when they open their mouth, "humans can do some sucky things. Nobody's all good, either."

 

You remember a few less-than-sterling examples from your own past and shake your head with a wry laugh. "We're all capable of doing terrible things and wonderful things, but really, humans all end up being a pretty even mix of both. And everybody's got their reasons for doing stuff, good or bad. I have my reasons for being nice right now. It makes Frisk happy when I make friends, and that's plenty of reason for me. I could be mean to monsters, but I don't want to and what would be the point?"

 

Like ok, you haven't been doing a stellar job on all fronts, what with all the combative bullshit between you and Sans, and you were maybe a little out of line hiding that piece of his telescope, but he's called it all upon himself. He always starts being an ass to you first, so whatever shit you do to him is justified. Right?

 

...Maybe?

 

You yawn and slowly climb to your feet. It's probably best if you get moving again soon, before you let inertia overcome you. You've been through a lot of shit today, but you still have a lot more to go and you can't quit now, no matter how tired you are or how done you are with the idea of doing stuff.

 

"So, anyway, um. If you wanna hate me or whatever, you're just gonna have to do it on your own, kiddo. I'm not gonna hurt anybody just to prove that I'm bad. And I'm sure as heck not gonna hurt a kid. I'm not some kind of mon-" You catch and correct yourself before you say that 'monsters' hurt children. That would have been a shitty thing to say to an actual monster, jeez. "-monumental jerk."

 

You step around MK, careful to give them a wide berth. Their tail droops listlessly to the ground and they won't meet your eyes. "Anyway, I, uh. I still need to find Frisk, so I'm gonna go... Um. Bye, then."

 

The squish of gritty mud under your boots and the steady tap of water on your umbrella are loud in the silence. You still can't hear any of it echo.

 

"Yo... Hey, Chara?" It's hesitant and soft.

 

You slow to a stop and look back over your shoulder. "Yeah?" MK is scuffing at the mushy ground with one foot and hanging their head with their eyes downcast.

 

"...I'm sorry, dude." They sniffle miserably and your chest clenches in sympathy.

 

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Kid. No harm done." They glance up and you smile for them.

 

"But I... I said-," they mumble, their voice hitching. "I... Oh, man, I'm such a turd, I-" 

 

You close the distance between you so you can kneel down and talk to them eye to eye. You've been waterlogged so many times since you stepped into Waterfall that you don't even notice the dampness that soaks into the knees of your jeans. "No, you're not, Kid. Humans have done a lot of messed up stuff to monsters." You remember some of the stuff you read in the books at the Snowdin Librarby about monster history. Humans are real bastards when they want to be. "You just reacted how you thought you should to something you had every reason to be scared of. I understand, _trust me_."

 

MK worries their scaly lip between their teeth. "Yo, Chara? Why, um... Why did _you_ hate humans?" they ask, startling a laugh out of you.

 

Haha, oh wow. Kids always know to aim right for the soft spots, don't they? You take a steadying breath. "I'm not... really sure why I felt that way... I mean, I could guess, but I don't really know for certain. I don't _remember_ anybody hurting me before that, but I..." How much should you tell them? This isn't something you normally talk about, and you don't want to tell them everything. The kid already fears humans, you don't want to give them nightmares, too. "I, uh. When I was a kid, the doctors found... I-I have some scars... The police think somebody hurt me real bad."

 

"Oh..." Regret is written plain across MK's face and you can practically hear them wish they could un-ask the question.  

 

"Yeah..." You move to stand and, like it knew you were talking about it, your hip pops painfully and you switch your weight to your good leg before your bad one can go out from underneath you. "...Like I said, I understand why somebody would be afraid of humans..." Ok, that's enough of that for today! "Ahem! Anyway! I really do need to go, so do you wanna go with me, or nah? Not gonna lie, I have no idea where the ferry is, so if you gotta go to Snowdin anyway, we might as well walk to the ferry together."

 

Their eyes go wider than you would have thought possible and the tears that had welled up in them wobble and threaten to fall. "Are you... Yo, you really wanna hang out with ME...? Like, STILL?"

 

"What?? Of course I do!" You pull them into a headlock and noogie them between their spikes, since they have no hair for you to ruffle. They flail their feet and squeal with surprised laughter. Now this is more like it! No more mopey sad crap! "You're a cool kid, and you're my friend," you tell MK when you let them go.

 

Their dazzling smile is as bright as the sun. "REALLY?? Ok, dude, sure I'll go with you!" they whoop as they bound off ahead of you. But then they stop and turn back, their grin dimming. "Aw, nuts... I forgot there's a ledge here. I'll have to go around another way."

 

You look past them and see what they're talking about. The path runs right up to the foot what you would call a cliff, if it weren't only chest-high to you, where it continues off into the distance. Even injured and tired, you'll have no problem climbing up, but MK doesn't have any arms.

 

"So there is. Well, if you're cool with being picked up, I can give you a boost," you offer.  

 

They consider it for a long moment, so you're glad you asked instead of just doing the thing without permission. You've had little siblings who didn't like to be picked up or touched, for a myriad of reasons. If MK would rather go a different way instead, you'll respect their choice.

 

"Mmmm. Ok," they finally say, along with one of those spine-and-head shrug things that they do. You would normally lift a child from under their arms, but since you can't do that here and you don't want to risk crushing their ribs, you decide to go for bridal style so one arm is behind their knees and the other supports their back. They're surprisingly light. Like, even though they're about the same height as Frisk, they only seem about half as heavy. You have no problem hoisting them up the little ledge and then clamoring up yourself.

 

"Yo, thanks, dude! The other way is REALLY long and it takes FOREVER to get to the dump. I like finding ways to do stuff without help, but then I wouldn't get to walk with you." Their gaze eventually drops to the umbrella you'd tucked under your armpit. "You won't need that anymore. That was the only room where it rains."

 

"Oh, oops." You had kinda forgotten you were still carrying it so you shrug and prop it up against a wall just before the wall and solid ground abruptly end.  

 

A bridge stretches away into inky blackness, suspended over what seems to be an immense chasm. You stomp on the first planks with your heel, testing the stability. Seems solid enough, but you can't tell how the boards are held up- there's no supportive pillars underneath or cables anchoring it to the ceiling?? -and there's barely room enough for you and Monster Kid to walk side by side. You can see another catwalk beneath you that looks wider and the lumber it was built of seems thicker, and you wish you could use that one, but there doesn't seem to be a way to get down there from here.

 

"You sure this thing is safe?" you ask MK. They skip out onto the bridge before you can say not to and jump up and down on it a few times.

 

"Haha, yuuuuup! C'mon, you're not scared, are you?" There's no ridicule in it; the way they say it makes it sound encouraging instead.  

 

You push down your nerves and follow them, but you make sure to step lightly. Even though it makes no logical sense, some irrational part of your mind conjures up an image of, like, spikes or something shooting up from under your feet to impale you. While you wouldn't put it past monsters to put some kind of booby trap or puzzle on this bridge somewhere, you don't see any holes in the wood for such a thing. Which doesn't seem to convince that bothersome worry to ease up at all, and the occasional random metal clanking sound from somewhere nearby doesn't help, either.

 

It doesn't take long to see that this isn't a bridge, but a network of walkways that branch and crisscross and...  Ugh, it's another frigging _maze_.  But then there comes a moment where you look up at the catwalk ahead and the way it disappears at the far end is more than just the darkness. A step or two later, you become aware of the entire structure swaying gently under your feet and you stop.

 

"Are you absolutely sure this thing is safe to walk on?" you ask MK again, still squinting into the shadows. "I think something's wrong."

 

Before you can stop them, they trot forward, ignoring your hissed protests. Darkness immediately closes around them until you can barely make out a small ghostly blob in the gloom. "Oh, DUDE! DUUUUUDE!!! Yo, you're right, Chara!" Their voice echoes for an unsettlingly long time, like they're shouting into a canyon. You can hear their little feet padding along wooden planks and you hope that it means that they're coming back. "There's supposed to be a lot more bridge over here and like a bunch of stairs so you can get down to the dump. The WHOLE THING musta broke off, yo! It's just GONE!"

 

The lighter-black smudge that you think is MK wavers from side to side and you feel, more with the pit of your stomach than anything, the catwalk shift under you some more. "Well, you should come back, then," you call to them. They're a pretty clumsy kid, what if they fall? "There's gotta be another way through, right?"

 

"Yeah, there is!" Rhythmic footsteps on boards as MK scampers into view. "We can try the- Whoa-OH!!"

 

There's a deafening crash and the platform bucks violently. Your guts give a sickening jolt, but you manage to stay on your feet. MK, much smaller and lighter than you, is batted up into the air like a tennis ball. Time seems to slow as you leap forward, grabbing the kid and pulling them against your chest an instant before they are launched over the edge. Their spiky tail swings around and smacks into your injured ribs, toppling you to your knees, but you just crush their body closer to yours and fold yourself protectively around them.

 

For a second, you smell cigarette smoke and mildewed newspapers and spilled bowels. There's greasy hair, so black it's nearly blue, against your lips. Flaky brown blood crusting your nail beds. Sirens and so. Much. _Screaming_.

 

Whispers swirl up from deep in your mind and out of your mouth beyond your control. _"...please, Robbie, I've got you, shhh, shhh, it's ok, shh, you'll be ok, I promise, please just stay with me, please, you can't be d-"_

 

The platform under you shudders and a metallic clank sounds not far behind you. Your eyes snap open. The memories scatter like frightened cockroaches. MK wriggles in your grasp and one by one, you unlock the stiff muscles in your arms and pry yourself off of them.

 

You want to ask if they're hurt, you want to tell them that it's going to be alright, but they step around you before you can do anything.

 

"Undyne!" they call out, and you flinch.

 

Of all the shit that could happen right now, _she_ had to show up? You're trembling uncontrollably and your breath is coming in short gasps that are probably more like sobs. Judging by the telltale itch on your cheeks and the stinging in your nose, tears had started streaming down your face at some point. You're in no shape to run, there's nowhere for you to hide. Defeated, you decide to at least stand and face your doom, even if you wobble and almost collapse again.

 

But MK surprises you. "Yo, you dudes don't have to fight!" There's a hopeful smile on their face and they're standing as tall and confident as their short frame will allow. You chance a glance at Undyne and that thick iron helmet is impossible to read, but you think from her posture and the set of her shoulders that she's as surprised as you are.

 

"You don't know what you're talking about, Kid. That punk's a human!" she growls. She points accusingly at you as she pulls a glowing spear from midair and advances a step.

 

MK smile falls and they gulp loudly. "I- I know, but-!" Undyne snarls at the admission of their betrayal and MK squeaks in fear but stands their ground. "But they're a- a SUPER COOL human, Undyne!" She takes another step forward and you take a shaky one back.

 

"They saved my life twice! TWICE!! C'mon, Undyne, you just saw them do it, yo! That's not something a bad person would do, is it?!" Another step forward. Another step back. The spear buzzes and crackles in her fist.

 

Undyne and MK are face to face now; they're the only thing standing between you and her  _again, goddammit._ They said she would never hurt an innocent monster and you believe them, but you can hear the waver of uncertainty in their voice and you can't stand the idea of them getting accidentally hurt (yet again) because they got in the way.

 

"Undyne... Please, dude! They're my friend. You can't-"

 

"MK, you should go home."

 

They turn to look at you, their wide eyes brimming with tears and disbelief. "But, Chara-"

 

"It's ok, Kid." There's still tears in your own eyes and your smile wobbles but you put as much reassurance as you can into it. You try to pull yourself up straighter without whimpering and are mostly successful. "You trust that Undyne is gonna do what's best for everybody, right? You should go home. I'm sure your parents are worried sick."

 

"B- But, I-"

 

"Would you STOP STALLING?!!" Undyne bellows. While they're distracted, she grabs MK with one hand, her huge gauntlet nearly enveloping their whole head, and jerks them behind her. With nothing between you, she wastes no time in charging forward and slashing her spear right through your chest.

 

Your Soul bursts free with a _pop!_ as you fall back and throw up your hands and brace for the pain, but pain doesn't come. When you peek out between your forearms, the cartoonish heart hovering in front of you is green.

 

"What in the name of-" you start, but the catwalk has had enough. It gives a resounding  ** _CRACK!_** and tilts sickeningly, but when you try to leap to the relative safety of where Undyne is standing, you can't. You're rooted in place. The section of bridge breaks off and the whole thing, you included, drops like a stone.

 

You hear MK scream, or maybe it's your own screams echoing back to you. Your limbs flail but there's nothing to grab onto.  Air whips past your face and stings your eyes, but it's too dark for you to see the ground rushing up to meet you anyway.

 

You wonder briefly if anyone will ever think to tell Frisk you're sorry. You never thought to ask anybody to do it for you.

 

Just on the tail end of that thought, something strange happens. If you had to describe it, you'd compare it to falling through a huge soap bubble.  You hit a nearly intangible wall of... something that cradles your body and slows you down for a second before it "pops" and disappears.  

 

You're still going too fast when you hit rock bottom, and when you bounce off whatever surface you land on, there's a _crunch_ inside you and every fiber of your being explodes in agony.  White hot light fills the back of your eyeballs. As consciousness is ripped away from you, a voice chases the trailing edge.

 

_"Here, get up.  Chara, huh?  That's a nice name.  My name is-"_

 

And everything goes black.

 

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh, looks like we're starting to earn that graphic violence tag


	15. Stab in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning: ableism; ableist, racist, sexist and transphobic slurs; misgendering; child abuse; violence**  
>   
> 
> there's just a lot of bad shit in this chapter, ok?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant believe chara is fuckin dead

 

 

 

 

 

̪ ̘̱̠͖̟ ͔͚̝̼ ̟ ̷̼̗̺̣̼ ̴͓̖͍̝ͅ ̠̦͔̯̯͍̜ ͎̼̘͉̮͞ ̼̣̯̭̳̰̦so dark ͔̫̕ ͏ ̖̖̰̩͈̼͘ ̸̪̪̭̯͕ ̭̱̪͈̳̝̘͡ ̫͙͓̪ ͓̣͚̠̰̩ ̸̘̖͖ ͙̲͖

 

̩̤ ̵̹͍̰̙̠̞ ̼̬̀ͅͅ ̼̩͖̲ ̡͓̦ ̠́ ͚̭ ̰͉̠͔ ̭̀ͅ ̶͉̹͕̳̳̝ ̙̼͚no light ̱̯͓̻̮ ̰̘̜̯̝̤ ̤͙̪̪͞ ̞͙͖͕̮͔̳ ҉ ̻͉̙͚̥̪̩ ̜̯̠̝̫̖͘ ̼̗̬ ̜͙̕ ̖̕ ̳̟̤͕͢ ̘͔̞̞ ͚̻̩̯̟ ͏̤̩̲̬͓̘̜ ̛ ̝͕̭͔͇̩ ̺͖̲͈ ̼͎̩̮̗͍ ̩̦͉̖͙ ̭̱ ̞͍͖ ̜̞̟͡ ̫̫̙̣̦͕̙ ̵̻͈͇̰̞̩ ͙̣̹̦͜ ̧̘͇̙͖ ̷͚̘͕̣̱ ̶̞̜̘̲͚͔ ͔̙͉̻̲̱ ̩͎̗͚͉͕ ̳̖͓͚ ̜̼̼ ͈͎ ̗̲͙̙̹̳͉ ̡̻̗ͅ ͎̲͎͝ ͖̬̘͍͇̝̱ ͍̥͔͖ ̡ ̕ ͉͝ ͍̪͖̩̱ ͍̞̗̖̙͝ ̶̝ ̬̩͠ ̞͈̗ ͙͎͠ ̹̤̥ ͍͚͠ ̷̖̹̣ ̮̜̠̥͖ͅ ̢ ̝̱̗͉ ̠̟͡ ̰̲̟̩̭ ̯̱̳͟ ͏̬̗̙̳ ̨̯̦ ̵ ̛̳̤͕͔̥͎ͅ ̀ ̴̻̪̱̱̮͕ ̨̞̺̮̝ ̥̼̭̺ ̧̲̬̩͚̞ ̟͕̻̙̲̥͝ ͉̳̤̙ ̝͓͈̖̺ ͏ ̤̜̤̪ ̝ ̢̠̮̘ ̯̺̹ͅ ͈̫̹̖̼͜ ̬͚̤̟̮ͅ ̮͕͖̠͕ ̷͚̱̤̜̥͈ ̟̱͝ ̲̰̟̝͉̻͙͠ ͅ ̧̬̟̺͕̱͉̠ ̝́ ͍̳̭̲͔̩ ̼̣͙͞ ̣̖͘ ̮̻͚͠ͅ ̷͎͚̲can't breathe it hurts ̥̱͈́ ͙̥͚ ͕̠͚͓͜ ͙̗̳

 

  
̷̠ ͉̱̗ ̣͚̩̀ ͖̦͚̪̖ ͔͙͔̩͞ ̝͔̥̻̥̺ ̴ ͇͚͘ ̺͍͙ ̫̯̹̣ͅͅ ̩͈͖̦̬̥͖ ͎ ̦̰͔̣ ̸͍͍͖͎̝̞ ̢̺̪̮̘̳͖where is..? ̫̙̖̝̩̫͢

͏͎ ̧͉͚͉̹ ̞̖̠ ̛̹̰̗ ̷̲͚ ̖ ͏ ̠̘̯̥͚͓̬͜ ̴͚̝̬ ͇ ̝͙͖̲͕̘̲ ̵̮̟͚̦ ̬̲ ̟̠͘ ̹͍̻̘͍̳ ̭̻ ̨͙̘̗̼̙̩̭ ̴̹̩ ̟̩̖̫̟̖͞ ̢̰͇͎̖͈̗ͅ ҉͎͕̱̲̭̦ ͕̖͈̹͙̟͖͘ ̲ ͓̮̘̹ ̮̜͎ ̘͉̹̣̟̻ͅ ̴̜ ̴̗͍̬̠̠͔͙ ̸̱̝̮͍̰̻̼ ̷͚͈̬͇̦ ̪̯̤̤̻̱ ̷̠ ͉̱̗ ̣͚̩̀ ͖̦͚̪̖ ͔͙͔̩͞ ̝͔̥̻̥̺ ̴ ͇͚͘ ̺͍͙ ̫̯̹̣ͅͅ ̩͈͖̦̬̥͖ ͎ ̦̰͔̣ ̸͍͍͖͎̝̞ ̢̺̪̮̘̳͖ ̵͕̺͔͕ ̪͔̱ͅ ̜̦̮̗ ̧̰ ̶ ͜ ̻̝̜ ͚͖͈̪̜̕ ̬̤͖͕͓̼ͅ ̶̺̜͉͍͉ ̗̘̞͙̻̟ ̀ ͉͕̟̟̮͈ ̢̬̻͚͓͔̗ ̺̗͉͠ ̱̱͔͙̗ ̢̱̝ ͚̞͠ ̱̜̭̼̰̙ ̠ ̗̝̻̪͚̞͓ ̨̬̙ ̣̺̗̼̪̫̤͢ ̤ ̻̫̰̖̱ ̹̬̝̯̮̥̹͢ ̲̪̤͓ͅ ͕̰̮̭̮̯̜ ̼̟͞ ̫̳̳ ̸ ͎̲ ͉͓̯̺ ͓͕͖̘ ̣̺̣ ̢ hurts so much ̟̙͉̙͖͕͈ ̺ ͍͎̘ͅ ̰͘ ̟͟ ͕̻̪̥̠̥̯ ̀ ̲̣̘̟̜ ̱̜̘̲̼̦̫ ̡̳ ̮͝ ̷̦̰̜ ̗͠ ̦̙͚̣̼͉ͅ ̮̹ ̛̦̜̱͓̭̻͔ ͞ ̞͎̳͜ ̯ ̠̳ ̯ ͙̪̱ ̨̜̤͖ ̡̜͎̝̺̱̣̮ ̝̭ ̦̭̥͚̝̲̥ ̝̖͇̦̙ͅ ͈̹̮̼̦ ̵̝̗̫̘̼̞ ̞ ̗͕̱ ҉̺̭ ̢͚̝͍͔̝͖ ̜̹̮͡ ͈̺͜ ̬̫̣́ ̬̱͙̬͇͕ ̬ ̬̝̼

 

͍̖̫̣ ̤̹̲͇ ̥͖ ̨̯̩ ̣ ̶ ̢ ̧̝͎̼̞͖͍ ̘͓͕̘ͅͅ ̣̠ ͍̯̯̩͠ ͖͎̪̙̙ ̢͎͓̙̯̺ ͇̫͙̗̙̙͡ͅ ̧̰͕̟̫ͅ ̝͍̠̫̙͝ ̣͓͖̠̥ ͙̰̝̰͞ ̮ ̗̟̩͎̝̠ ̺̺̞ ̞͙̜̳̱̳̞ ̹̺ ̼̩ ̬͓̥̘̫̪͖ ͏͉͕ ̵̯͚̣͉ͅ ̡͎͈ ̧̼̜̳̩͍̤̲ ̠̮̣̠̜ ̢̫̰̫ͅ ̱̼ ̲̻͈ ̨̞̼̥͉ ̸͙̜͔͍̝̼͙ ̤͉̱͙̻͓͞ ̫͈̰ ̣̞̜̠̼͠ ̟̘̘̮́ ̥̹̝͕̻̀ ̢̫͍̖̠̯̟ ̵͈͎̤ͅͅ ̷̺̜͙ ̩̪̼̬̞̹ ̰̗̳̘̜ ͉̭̹̮̥̺͓ ͏̳ ͕ͅ ͟ ̧ ̧ ̝ ̰͖̼̹̭ ̩͜ ̰̱̗̮ͅ ̣ ̜͙̦̮̟̙ ͏̪ ̘̳̲͈̤͉ ̢͕͇̦̭̬ ̰͍͕̝̣̹̀ ̵̺ ͇͠ ̞͙͈̭̤͙͓ ̷͍̟͚̬̭̠ ̻͖̤ ̣ ̣̰̦͕̰͈ ̗͕̯ ̭ ͚̭͓͞ ̘͉ ̦͚̫̪̗̫̤ ̸̞̝̼̖ͅ ̳̩͔̹͕͉̀ ̮̠̗̮̻̲ ̧ ̷̲̳͚̥̦̩ ̻̹͔ ̷͕̗͖ ͓̹̫̳̭̥͠ ̘̹̥̼͡ ̡̟ ͟ ̣͚͍͚̮̳̀ ̣͍̼ ̘͎͓̰̤ ͓̯ ̶̮̘̳͍̝̩̭ ̩̠͉̩͝ ̺̟̤̪ ̣̯̱ ̣͓̯̥͔͟ ͝ ̡̜̼̬̻͈͈ ̭̲̺̘̩͘ ̤̪̫͓̺̟ ͓͍͎̫͘ ̞͔̻̥̦ ̡̯̥̞̪̞̼ ̶͎̞ͅ ̨̠ ̧̼̘̞̳̯̤ ̰̳ ̨͚̲̝͈̲ ̘͔̳̜̺ ̪̖̥ͅ ̡̝̤ ̳͎̮̲̦ͅ ͎͇̙̩̝͚ ͔̙ͅͅ ͓̼ ̝̟̝̖̤̞͍ ̨̟̳͇̟̭̺̰ ̬͍͠ ̭̮̭͜ ̳͉̣̤͡ ̰͇͍͎ ̲̠̳̞͎̮͚ ̤͓̭̙̦ ̨͖̩̮͍̪͎̺please.....    somebody ҉͎ ͔̥͔̠͚̘͡ ̜̠͜ ̩̙̬̫ ̛͍̼ ̼̲͍̙ ̧̦̬̖̜̞͓ ̱̞͟ ̰̪̜̹ ̱̣̞͙͕͠ ̧̭̺̘͈ ̼̻̺̜͈̭ ̷̦ ͔̪ ͡ ̝̭̗͉͡ ̰ ̹̱ ̭͎̙̳̞ ̛ ͢ ̤͕̫̗̼̀ ̬̭̳̱ ̮̯̞ ͓̣̩ ̗ ̗̱̩̲͠ ̖͍̯̲͚͚̦ ̱̀ ͖̹̣̫̞̕ ̗̮̗ ̫̫͚̩̻͈ ̖̭̤͉̠ ͖͉ ̣̩ ̢ ̱̤̺̠ ̷͇̭̣̰̰ ̼̰ ̸͔ ̺͓̣̗̭͙̼ ̟̳̬͠ ̣̣̺͎̦̟͝ͅ ͚̻ ̰̳̰ ̣̤͓̀ ̺̲̦ ҉̰͇̥̘̭͔ ̮̣ ̧ ̘̱͔̺͕̫̙͢ ̵̲ ̖̭͇̣ ̺̩̩̰̠͎ ͕̩

̳̻̩͉̹̫͙ ͇͈ ̡̠̪͍̞͓̺̦ ͙͠can't move can't _think̴͈̦̠ͅ ̣̪̕ ̭̘̗͙͕͚ͅ ͓͠ ҉͖̣̳͈̜̲ ̝̱̤̦̳̯͜ ̠̫̩̟̗̫ ̶̥ ̳̼͙̝͓̯͜ ͓̣͖͖̪̬̭̕ ̜̰ ͠ ͓ ̶̩̟̘̮̫ ̶͎̮̟ ̜͔͇̙̜̼̻ ̮ ̣̳̜ ͕͇ ͍͈̻̳̩ͅ ̠̮͖͉̣̺̀ ̧̟̜̦̻̱̜ ͝ ͏̙̞͙̖͓ ̬̺ ͖̗̯̠̳͢ ́ ͉͍͞ ̞̩̯̬ ̯͖̞͕ ̠͇̰͇ ̠̰ ̘̲͇͓̰̘̼ ̛͖̘̦ͅ ̫̩͙̼̤͎͢ͅ ̵ ̩ ̶̩̘̟̬̟ͅ ̨̜͙͈̩ͅ ̡̺͍̹͈͕͎̬ ̴̲̦̱͈ ̣̘̰̩̣̰͢ͅ ̛͇̥̗̦̳ ̬̲̩̦̫ ̴̣̤̤ ͖̣͇̗̠̥̼ ͚͓̘̩ ̮̱͕̺̙̗ ͎̤̙̤͉̻ ̻͇͝ ͔̣͠ ̷ ͏̜̞̙̯̣̥̭ ̡ ҉̱̱ ̹͕ ̼͕̹͇ͅ ̹̖̪͢ ̴̩̼̫̱̰͎̯ ̧͎ ̷͍̮̫͓͙͖ ̤̣̼̱ ̻ ҉͓̙̞̥̭̭͈ ̤̪̩̲̣̫ ҉̙̮͚ ̙̳̫̰̝ͅ ̵̭̥͉̭͖ͅ ̖̯̬̘̦̀ ́ ̷͇͕͓ ̺̳̺ ̷̫̤̱͍͈ ̞͉͙̙ ̬̗̳ ̗̦͕͙̗ͅ ͈ ̘͓̫ ̱̣̻͚̮͍͜ ͓ ͡ ͠ ̛ ͔̀ ̀ ̸̜̤͙͇ ̞̞̟̹̳̟ ̘̪͕̜͚̮̪ ̠̞̼̗̦͞ͅͅ ̺̝̞̯̞͔ ̱̘̲̣̞̳͢ ̞̥̙͇̝ ̸̞̟̝̺͇̥̹ ̥̗̀ ̲͕̮̘͎̺̕ ͎͉͙͢ ̷͇̱ ͓̠̭ ̯͈̘̥̫̙ ̗̭̬͚̬̲̺ ̝̼͔̰̯̬̖ ̦ͅ ̸ ̱̺ ̥̟̝̬̺̹ͅ ̝̭ ̛̳̞̟̦͕̠̗ ̡̮̯̞ ̣̳͓̱͕̯̟͟ ̗͔̹ ̡̙̝͇̠͙ ̨̖͚̺ͅͅ ̛͕̗̫̥͓ͅ ̟̳̀ ̧͖̲ ̮̣̦̟͡ ̢͎̗ ͇͖͓̭͞ ̶͍̪̗̻̹_ ̢ ́ ͠

 

 

 

̣͇̻̭͜ ̲̰ ̸̙̗͚ ̠̰͈̭̖͚̖͟ this wasn't...  ̡̤̼̱̲̝ ̲̯͉ ͚̱ ̙̫̜̯͢ ̢̻̮͙̲̲ ̥̝̣̻̝͡ ̸̬̮̙̥͕̞̱ ͎̖̫͙̤̳͚ ̥ ҉̱̰̲̗ ̘̫͚͝ͅ ̶̙̼ ̩̜ ̣̳̪͘ ̸ ̴̮͔̪͔̯̻ ̮͖̱̩͍ ͖͕̞̱ͅͅ ͔̫̩̕ ̬̜̲̦̤ ͉͇̩ ̺̫͕͓ ҉ ̧͓̤ ̨ ̻͖͚̙ ̗̗̖̺̤̦ ̧̼̣̦̼̖ ͉̼͍̳̣̯͜ ̹̳̫͓̺ ͇͚ ̤̻̲̰̦̙̫ ͏̼̗͚̫̭ͅ ̤͈̰̱͕̳̀ ҉̲͉ ̴̩̫̖̱̱͈ͅ ̢͉̯̤ ̖̪͖͍͔̪ ̪̰͔͖̙̜͉ ̠̯̹̱̮͖͜ͅ ͕̝͚͈͚͢ ̨̪̗̠ ̪͠ ̺̥̘̱̳̠ ̖ ̹̲̥ͅ ̶̤̗̰͚have to start over ̯͉̪͎̣̝̼ ͎ ̪ ̨͕̦̦̰̬̞͇ ͖̥ ̜͕̤̘ ̖̜͇̟̣͕̺/ ̮̗͓̝̠̲ ̟̖ ̹̬̹̜̼̤ͅ ̥̥̬̱ ͖ ͚͍͕̳ ̱͚ ̢̮̜̩̗ ̳̬͎ ̱̺͖ ̸̮͙̝̠̲ ̦̹͔̻͔͎͡ ̹̟̦ ̸̻͚ ̬͙̦̘͎̖ ҉̙ ̦̖͙͖̥̘͈͠ ̩͎ ͚̳͖̞̕ ̮̹̳̝͕͜ ̴͙̘̞ ̠͍̯͕̺̝͓ ̢̝ ̬̤͉ ̲̞͙͍ ͕̞ ͕̱̗̩͈̯̟ ͏̺̝̝̣ ̝ ̷ ̘̤̣ ̥̫ ̟ ͟ ̰̻̪̣ ̜̹͙͈ ̥̳̬͉ ̳͍̩̝͙̲ͅ ̫ ̖̫͖͠ ͍͔͎̲͜

 

 

̨̳̜͕ ̵҉̨̤̜̖͚͈͘ ̴͓̗͍̤̪͘ ̵̘̫͔̠͓ ̵̧̮͉͇̹̹̞̭̣̭̖̫̗̝̬͔ ̸̨̼̰͓̖̻̲͙̘͓̮̞̟͈̯̘̩̠ͅ ̶̴̸͍̘̻̳̤̜͉ ͞͏̵̯̣̙͕̟͉͖̻̜̰̳͙͉̱̘͓̜̥̤͝ ҉҉̫̭͍̻̜̣͍̼̟̼̬͔͚̟͕̰͇ ̛̼͈̭̯͇̯̪̱̞͇̺͖͚̼̘̠̜̭͞͡ͅ ̸̢̛͏͚̘͓̩̝̙̖͕̝̗͚̙̼ͅ ̴̛̗̦̱̳̮͔̬͚͙͉ ̡̡͙̟̯̘̙͈͢͠ ̶̶͉̻̺͎͖̫͇́ ̛͏̖̺͕̗̩̹͓̹͔̕ͅ ̡̝̜̯͉͚̻̦́͜͞͡ ̥̞̤̬̯̤͔̭͈͖͓̱̮̫͖́͢͞͠ ̶̡̝͕̺̘̤̰̻́͜͡ ̨̫͓̹̩̜̩͕͕̯̪̞̩͇͕͈̩͕͟ ̷̀͟͏̨̮̫̱̼͙ ̛̪͓̪̞͉͇̝̞̮̘̤͉̦̝͕͙̰̻͟͝͠ͅ ̧̧̼̟̞̱͚͓̣͎̮͔͖̙͇̯͙͢͡ͅ ̵͟͝҉̬̗͔̖̞̜͓ ̸̷̡̨͎̻̦̲͕̠̣̙͖̣̝̠͈ ̸̧̖͚̣̬̼͈̩͉̥̪̀́͟ ҉̰̙͈̩͖̦̱͉͙̖̮̤͝ͅ ̢҉̠̠̟̜̯̜̱ͅͅ ̷̡̫̫̮̼͖̳̲͢͢ ̵̵͈̜̝̼̤̩͙̫͚̫̠̥̞͞ͅ ̴̧͙͙̘̖̳̮̫̱̪͠ ̧͡҉͏̰̹͍̱̻ ̛͘͏̮̪͉͙̟̬̠̮̟͜͜ ̷̖̭̗̳͙̥̹̩̤͎͍̱͉̼͎͖͓́͝ ͔̪̺̼̘̤͜ ͍̖̰͉͚̮͔̪̜̞̫̖̀͢͟ ̵̺̱͉̩̜̦̣̰ ͇̻̼͎̬̹̬̩͍̹͈̀ ̸̡̝̗̻̤͔͉̮̮̟̖̻̲̻̦̫̭̀ ̸͎̟̠̱̰̼̲͘ ҉̸̩̖̩̱͖͖̦̟̞̣̩ ̸̸̢̛͙̠̺̱̺̬̱̪̫̗̹͙ ̴̡͖̤̰̜́͟͢ ̧̗͍̼̜̥̥̤͢ ̶͍̤̯̬͟͟͝͝ ̸̀͝͏̫̫̩̗̘̮̥̥̖͈͙̮̠̘̺̲ ̭̣͖̗͉̳̦̘͙̟͎̗̜̠̯͢ ̧̟̯̻̪̪̺̼̺̰͇̜̳̻̕͢͡ ͜҉͓͓͍̼̰̫̩͚͉͇̥͓̼̭̜̹̩ ̵̤͎̯̹̻̱̟̼͞ ̢̗̝͕͎̦̪͎̖̪̦͖̘͘͘͟it's all _w̧̺̤̹͉̻̳̫̟͕̜̣͞r̵͓̫̭̦̰͔̮̀o̵̡̗̣̞̞̗̬̣̤̪͈̣͘ͅͅn̴͞҉͏̧̹̺͉̭̥̯̬̝̦̹͇̝̼̤ͅͅg̠̗̞̺̮͚̩̼̫̤̮̜̱̲͠_ ̷͓̟̳͓͠ͅͅ ̷̳̝͙̘͇̮̗̮̼̜̀̀͜͞ ̶̴͕̼̭̼ ̷͔͇̞̖̭̤̞́͢͝ ̟̦̹͎̠̠͕͚̘͓̲̫̣͚͜ ̢̧̯̹̟̦̩̲̗͈͎͓̦̺́͟͢ ̶̘̭̙̱͉͈̟̩̬̱̬̙̗͟͝͡ ̡̡̡̹̭̥̜ͅ ̶̷̼͚̗̱̯͕͙͇̟͢͜͡ ҉͏̤͚̹̬͓̣̬̱͈ ̶̛̳͇̬̝̺̖͖͙͖̣̻̗̪̝̕͝ ̨͔̞̫̰͔̞̦̖͇̤̟͈̻͔̰͞ͅͅ ̧͜͏̰͖͈̙̱͚̼͖͕̥̱̖̲͖̭͕̙͔̞́͟ ̷͏̭̳̯̙͈͕̜̻̻̤̹̟̀̀ͅ ̛̥͇̻̱̱̫͇̭̮̪̥̕͝͝͡ͅ ̢̻̜̭̼͈͇̼͜ͅ ̶̨̡̗̭̯͉̱̯̬ ̨̳̪͉̝̥̰̘̳͎̺͇̫̰͔͓̘̭̕ ̧̺̮̝̘́͘͢ ̶̩͖̝̜͉̯̹͇̖͓͝ ̷̷̛̥̩͈͉̼͔̫̥̬̯͍͎̕͡ͅ ҉̳͔͙̥̺̝̣̪̼̪̺͔̳̱̼̠͉̬̖͜ ҉̶̸̗̦̲͇̪̥̺ ̧̙̪̳͘͜͞ͅ ̧̛̬̗͎͚͖̺͖ ̵̷̶̻̣̯̺̜͓̻̪͔͉ ̟͉̜̘̫̻̟̭̬̪̻̘̀́͢ ͏̗̲̼̟̯͚̱͙͎̜̗̥̜͟ͅ ̶̶̷̬̮̺̪̣̲̥͕̼̗͎̬͘͟ ̶̴͇͖̼͓̰̫̮̤͎̟͎ͅ ̴̢͕̘̣̗͈̫͎̺͍̹̀͜͞ ҉҉̡̰̦̗͖͇͜ ̡̨̘̥͕̝̘̥̥̭ ̰͈̰̻̰̻͈͎̣͚͞ ̵̢̹̫̯̰̩ ͏̡̮̱͉͉̼̫̹̰͚̹̬̥͞ ̵̴̵̡̯̝̞͇̭̰͍̥͔̫̝̞̯̰̝͜ ̵͞͏̨̥͍̠̪̥̝̻̙̤͢ ̴̸̵̜̺̲͕͉͙̺͈̮̺̠̘̖̼̼͘ͅͅ ̢̺̠̝̬̠͓͞ ̸҉̸͔̯̬̱́͜ ̩͈̙̯̹̯̺̥̯͍̟̹̳͚̣̗́ ̵̨̨̞̥̟̠̀͟ ̴̴̰͍̰̰̠̠̘̫̪̀͟ ̠̱͚̣̳͢͡͝ ̵̶̛̯̠̖̥̣̰͔̟̣̠̬̠͖̦ ̯̻̻͕̕ ̷̦͚͕̹̪̞̠̣̲̱̹̮̪̖̩̮̣̦͟ͅ ̶̶̥̰̬͓͉͎̟̼̣̥̼͇̞̠̠͉͕̖̰ ҉̧̢̲̩͙͉̻̹̝͍̗̻̩̞̦́͟

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

You drift for a time. Memories play themselves one after another, and you watch with the detached clarity of hindsight, sometimes from behind your own eyes as if you're reliving them, and sometimes looking down as if you're floating high above. 

 

The first time you'd noticed, you were standing at the refrigerator in your foster parents' kitchen, asking Frisk what kind of soda they wanted. When they ducked under your arm to grab one themself, you saw the way their shirt collar was stretched out and got a peek at the angry red scratches across their shoulder blade. You wanted to believe your assumptions were wrong, but... When you said good night to them before bed, you made sure to tell them that they could talk to you about anything.

 

Two weeks later, they came home with mud in their hair and two skinned knees. They told you that they tripped over a stick, but they still asked you to walk them home from school for a few days afterward. You offered to sign them up for karate at the community center, but they refused. _I don't like fighting_ , they said.

 

The torn homework, the marks and bruises, the tears they would try to hide from you when they walked through the front door. You couldn't comprehend why anyone would ever target sweet, timid Frisk, but you couldn't deny that they were being bullied. It made your heart ache to see them bear their suffering in silence. It made you feel powerless.

 

Until one day, something... changed. Nothing too out of the ordinary happened; even now, watching it all again from the outside, you're not quite sure what it was. Something was different that morning. You could suddenly see a kind of resignation and resolve behind Frisk's eyes that was far beyond their years. It was subtle, but you could feel that this wasn't the little kid you'd watched cartoons with the night before.

 

It made your blood boil.

 

Whoever the spineless, gutless sack of shit was that was bullying your sibling, _they_ had done this to them. It had to be _their_ fault. You were going to find out who it was and you were going to  put an end to it.

 

You'd circled back after leaving for school so you could follow Frisk. You made sure to walk one block over and a little behind them so they didn't notice your presence. You would lose sight of them as buildings got in the way, but you always spotted them crossing the street ahead of you as you neared each intersection. Until you came to one and they weren't there. You jogged over to their street and turned to look back toward home.

 

Two older boys, one with a truly tragic bowl cut and one with ears big enough for three people, had Frisk backed up against the fence around somebody's yard. Frisk was trying to sign something to them as you dropped your backpack and started forward, but Bowl Cut slapped their hands down.

 

"Quit flapping your hands, retard," he spat.

 

Ears laughed. "Yeah, retard! Everybody knows you're a faker! You can hear, you think you're too good to talk to us!" He shoved them hard against the fence. Frisk gasped in pain and you saw red.

 

In a flash, you were on them. Your knuckles met Bowl Cut's face with a vicious _crack!_ as you backhanded him upside the eye with all your strength. His head snapped to the side, followed by his body as he toppled to the ground like a stack of loosely connected sticks. Ears yelped in fright and you whipped around, your teeth bared in a savage snarl.

 

...Oh, god. Is that really what you looked like right then? Your chest and shoulders heaving, hands curled into claws, face purple with rage. Your eyes, already naturally reddish, were blown so wide they practically glowed crimson. You looked... crazed is putting it mildly. Even through the dispassionate lens of recollection, seeing your bloodthirsty expression sends a shiver down your incorporeal spine...

 

You tried to take a swipe at the kid's face, but the combination of your arm suddenly meeting with resistance and him staggering backward caused you to just barely miss catching the tip of his nose with your fingernail. Frisk had wrapped their skinny arms around your elbow and was trying to hold you back. Ears clapped his hand defensively to his nose, then turned tail and ran, leaving Bowl Cut to his fate.

 

You tried to shake your sibling off and go after him, but they refused to be budged. When you pried one of their hands off your coat, they just buried it in your hair instead and dragged your head to the side. They managed to get their legs wrapped around one of yours and then clung to you with their whole body like a heavy little octopus until you were forced to stop trying to awkwardly flounder down the sidewalk.

 

All at once, fatigue crashed into you. Your body felt spent and bruised all the way to the bone, like you'd just gone ten rounds with a Mack truck. A throbbing headache was building at the back of your skull. Frisk was sobbing into your sleeve. The backs of your knuckles stung and you realized with dawning horror what you'd just done.

 

Jesus cocksmoking Christ, you hIT A BOY!!!

 

You whirled around to check on him but Frisk must have thought you were going to attack him again, because they screamed wordlessly into your ear and clenched their body to keep you from moving, yanking at your hair _hard_.

 

"Ow OW, Frisk- fuck!" you cried. You stumbled and fell to your knees, too weak all of a sudden to carry their weight. They sure knew how to weigh a ton when they needed to. Tears coursed hot and fast down their cheeks as they mouthed _STOP!!_ at you over and over.

 

"I promise I'm not gonna- I-I gotta make sure I didn't hurt him, Frisk, let go!" you started to plead. It became a moot point when Bowl Cut, who you can see now had only been dazed, sat up. He took one look around, saw that his big-eared friend had abandoned him with you, and started wailing. A bright red mark was already forming along the side of his face. You began to ask him if he was ok or maybe to apologize, but halfway through your first word, he jumped up and ran away.  

 

Self loathing welled up in your guts as you watched the boy book it down the sidewalk. What were you _thinking_?! You're an adult and you _STRUCK_ a _CHILD_! You'd just done one of the most unforgivable things you could have ever done. You were no better than... Than _them._

 

Carefully, you maneuvered Frisk so they were clinging to your front and wrapped your arms around them. Your knees hurt where they pressed against the cold cement, but you didn't care. You buried your face in your baby sibling's hair and whispered soothing nonsense until their distressed weeping and shuddering slowed to quiet sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

 

"God, I'm so sorry, Frisk," you murmured. "I don't know w-why..." You swallowed thickly around the lump forming in your throat.

 

Frisk, their face blotchy and tear stained, leaned back so they could look at you. They placed one tiny hand, fingers splayed, in the center of your chest and squinted at it hard, as if they could peer through it and into your heart.

 

...You wonder now if they were checking out your Soul. They've shown over and over again during your time Underground that they know of things they shouldn't possibly know... Maybe it's not too much of a stretch to believe that they can see such things?

 

Whatever they were looking for, they apparently found it, because they wriggled out of your grasp and brought their hands up to sign.

 

 _"Why aren't you at school?"_ they demanded, their eyebrows drawn into a stern frown. The question was so inane, it threw you for a loop.

 

"I. Uh. I... Kinda followed you?" you admitted after you were done sputtering. "I wanted to see who was bullying you."

 

Frisk rolled their eyes and huffed like they were exasperated with you. _"Those guys don't matter. All I needed to do was wait until they ran out of names to call me. They were gonna run out soon. They're not very smart. You didn't need to butt in."_

 

Your sins settled heavy on your back as you climbed, still weak and unsteady, to your feet. So, not only did you strike a child, it hadn't even been necessary to protect your sibling. They would have been fine without your "help."

 

"Oh," was all you could say. You felt like the scum of the Earth.

 

Frisk sighed. _"Well, you didn't kill them... It'll be ok,"_ they signed _. "I'll just try again, I guess. Let's go, we're late."_

 

You were confused but you didn't ask what that meant, too preoccupied with your own stupid overreaction.

  

The memories of your school day mostly pass before your eyes in a dull blur. After dropping Frisk off at their school with some half-muttered excuse, you walked the rest of the way to your school. You didn't even bother with an excuse for being late; you just skipped your first class. They could call your foster mom if they wanted. That prissy bitch wouldn't do anything about it. She might chip a nail or something.

 

You do recall thinking a lot about what you'd done. Trying to figure out what the fuck had possessed you to attack a kid like that. You couldn't for the life of you remember what your thought process had been. One moment you were all the way down at the end of the block, and the next thing you knew, you were on top of him, damn near knocking his head off.

 

But the more you thought about it, the more the mean little voice in the back of your mind whispered that he had it coming, that he was just an awful little shit who got off on picking on kids weaker than him. He got what he de̡s̷erv͡e̢d̡.

 

People like that don't even d̞̦̹̜ẹ̼͎ș̖̭͙͕͕͔e͓̞̦̩ͅr̪̞̺̦ve͕͇̺̖͉ ̤͉͕to ͚̺͖̠̱͉̼l̯̟i̦̥͕͓̱v͉̥͎̭̣̫ẹ̰.

 

By the time the final bell rang, you were almost convinced.

 

The walk back flashes by, no more than a flicker of cold, gray streets, and then you were home. Or rather, you were at your foster parents' house. They threaten to kick you out so often, you'd long since stopped acting like you want to be there. And the threat stopped holding much weight, once you turned 18 and a family court judge gave you the opportunity to leave foster care whenever you want. Of course, your foster parents had just switched to threatening to send Frisk back instead, since they know being separated from them would break your heart.

 

There was a strange car parked on the street out front of the house and you could hear shouting when you got close. You spotted your foster mother when you turned up the driveway, standing outside of the kitchen door and arguing with a man you didn't recognize. The bowl cut boy from that morning was sniveling miserably to himself nearby. He saw you first and darted behind the stranger, but the livid bruise around his eye stood out as clear as day. Looked pretty nasty. You idly wondered if there would be any permanent damage.

 

The strange man, obviously Bowl Cut's father, leaped at you as soon as he noticed your presence. "YOU!" he bellowed, right up in your face. His breath smelled like Red Bull and scorched garbage and his plaid coat was stained with what looked like sealing caulk or maybe bird shit. "You must think you're real tough, huh?! Beating up an eleven-year-old boy?! I'm gonna call the cops and have you arrested, you cunt! I oughta kick your little chink ass while I'm at it!!"

 

You let him rage at you for a minute; somewhere under his hollering, you heard your foster mother say something like 'Chara, what did you do to Frank's son?' but you ignored her. The guy, Frank, must have mistaken your flat affect and silence for fear, because he pushed himself further and further into your personal space, looming over you and making menacing motions with his hands. With every threat and slur he hurled at you, the cold, hard ball of h͏a̷t́ȩ that had been gradually forming in your gut all day grew colder and harder until it cracked.

 

He paused to take a breath and one of your hands snapped up and clamped over his mouth, cutting him off mid-tirade. Your fingertips crushed down on the sides of his jaw with so much pressure that your knuckles popped. Distantly, you could hear Frank's son whimper and your foster mother squawk out a 'Chara!' but you ignored them. You pulled his face down, resting his forehead gently on yours in a gesture that was almost intimate. His eyes bulged with shock.

 

...You notice that your eyes were doing that too-bright-red thing again. What the fuck is with that? You know you can get them to look red in certain kinds of light, but not like that... 

 

With an ominously chipper smile and in a quiet, mildly reproachful tone, you told him, "Your son is lucky I only blacked his eye. If I ever catch him bullying my sibling again, he'll be carrying his eyeball home in his pocket." Frank grabbed at your wrist but you gripped tighter, until your bones creaked in protest. Your hand didn't move. "Frisk is only eight, and they're non-verbal, you see," you continued conversationally. At his confused (and muffled) sound, you let your smile drop. "They don't speak, fuckwit. They use sign language."

 

You pulled his forehead against yours again, except this time you slammed it down like you were trying to drive yourself into the ground like a stake. Your vision quivered for an instant as your eyes shook in their sockets, but you were beyond the point of feeling the pain. Frank yelped behind your palm and tried to pry at your wrist with both hands. Your fingers still didn't budge. You could feel his panicked breathing against the webbing inside your thumb and you entertained the idea of stopping up his nose as well, and watching him turn blue.

 

"Now, imagine," you pondered to him, smile firmly in place again. "Just imagine what the cops are gonna think when I tell them that your eleven-year-old son and his big-eared friend were ganging up on a tiny, 'mute' kid." You fluttered your lashes and simpered, "'Oh, officers, I'm so sorry that I hurt that boy, but they were beating up my poor baby sibling! I didn't mean to hit him, I was just trying to protect defenseless little Frisk!' When Frisk uses sign language to tell the cops how they've been bullied and beaten for months, who do you think is gonna be in deeper shit, hm? Me or your boy?"

 

You jerked Frank's head around and forced him to look at his son. "You tell your dad what you and your boyfriend were doing this morning, Bowl Cut?" you called. The kid shrank back and refused to meet his father's eyes. Your foster mother had retreated to just inside the screen door and you could see her talking on the landline phone, no doubt calling your foster father at work. "See?" you said to Frank as you chuckled darkly. "And I don't even have to ask if your boy and his friend have a record at school of picking on smaller kids. Of course they do. You think a judge is gonna side with a couple of known delinquents, or a concerned big sibling looking out for a disabled child?"

 

Frank's hands went slack around your wrist and your grin nearly broke your face.

 

"That's what I thought," you murmured. "Here's what's going to happen, _Frankie_. You're gonna load your son into your busted-ass ghetto wagon and you're gonna fuck off back home. You're gonna go on with your life, and if you know what's good for him, you'll make sure your son understands why he should keep his shitty hands and shitty insults to himself. And while you're at it you're gonna figure out how to do the same, and you're gonna be so, _so_  fucking grateful that I'm _kind_ -" you spat the word into his face like acid "-enough to let all that 'gook slut' and 'cunt' talk slide. Sound good?"

 

His eyes flicked back and forth between your pupils, but he nodded slowly against your hand. "Good. Now get the fuck out of here." You shoved his face away from you and he stumbled back, holding his jaw. You didn't bother to watch him leave, you turned your back on him and walked, casual as you please, to the kitchen door. Bowl Cut skirted around you, making sure to say well out of your reach. Your foster mother was just hanging up the phone when you opened the screen door and she poked her head outside.

 

"Cindy! Do something about your daughter!" Frank yelled from the mouth of the driveway, but when your head whipped around, he and his son both ducked and ran to their car.

 

...Now you can see why. The look on your face was bone-chilling. You had no idea you could even look that... feral. You'd almost swear you hear yourself growling.

 

"Chara! What has gotten into you?" Cindy began to scold you as you pushed past her and into the house, dumping your backpack by the door. Her double-chin, the one thing she'd never been able to get rid of with all her diet pills and colon cleanses, quivered with anger. She had on a pastel pink dress that was too light for early winter, and her foundation, the wrong kind for her oily skin type, had settled into her frown lines. Her nasal griping about what the neighbors would think and what the other mothers in the PTA would say fell on deaf ears.

 

The headache you'd been nursing all day was flaring up again, pulsing from behind your eyes to the back of your skull in hot spikes. You got a glass down from the cupboard, making sure to knock Cindy's obnoxiously decorative china cups against each other on the way, and trudged to the fridge. Your limbs felt heavy and stiff as you grabbed the entire jug of orange juice and headed through the living room, bound for your room. Your foster mother said something about Scott 'dealing with you' when he got home and then something about not taking food to your room, but you told her to shut the fuck up, Cindy. She didn't have the balls to stop you and you both knew it.

 

At the top of the stairs, Frisk's door was open partway and you peeked in on them. They were lying on their bed, brows furrowed in concentration as they drew in the margins of their coloring book with a crayon. They looked up just as you were about to move on, and pulled the earbuds out of their ears. Your tablet was next to them and you could have cried with relief at that moment. They hadn't heard your 'chat' with Frank or your foster mother berating you.

 

 _"Hi, Chara! Welcome home!"_ they signed, beaming you a winning smile. The biggest one you'd seen on them in days, in fact.

 

You smiled back as best you could, through the static in your ears and the painful haze of your migraine. "Hey, Squirt. You have a good day at school?" They nodded 'yes' enthusiastically. "Any homework today?" A shake 'no,' but somewhat less enthusiastic. "Uh, huh. Get your homework out, kiddo. I'll help you with it in a sec."

 

They blew a raspberry at you, but obediently reached for their backpack while you continued down the hall to the bathroom. You fished a mostly-empty bottle of Tylenol out of the cabinet and knocked back four of them dry, then washed your hands while you were in there. You could still feel Frank's sweaty stubble against your palm. By the time you shuffled back to Frisk's room, they had two worksheets laid out on their bed. You sat down indian style on the carpet and snagged your tablet, stuffing it in your coat pocket. Frisk gave you an admonishing look.

 

"What? It's mine. I just let you borrow it. Here-" You poured a tall glass of orange juice and chugged the whole thing in one breath, then poured the glass half full and held it out to your sibling. "-trade ya?" They raised an eyebrow but their expression didn't change. "Oh, come on. We're family. We have the same germs." You burped under your breath and they sighed, shrugged, and took the glass from you. You turned your attention to their homework. "Ok, let's see what you got here."

 

They ended up not needing your help at all; you just watched them fill out the answers to a bunch of simple addition and spelling problems while you waited for the painkillers to knock the sharp edges off your headache. Once you could raise your arms above your head without feeling like you were being stabbed in the cerebrum, you started stretching the stiffness out of your aching muscles. It was when you were wringing the kinks out of your spine that you happened to see Frisk's coloring book and the design they'd been doodling. You pulled the book closer to get a better look. It was a circle of six hearts, each a different color, around a bigger, winged red heart. Under the red heart were two triangles and a line that you assumed, from its position, was the start of a third triangle.

 

"This is a cool drawing," you told them because it would be a cold day in hell before you didn't compliment one of their drawings. "I like all the colors. Is it from a cartoon?" It seemed sorta familiar. Frisk shook their head, and you didn't notice at the time but they were watching you with their brows furrowed. You stared at the design as you tried to figure out where it was from. You knew you'd seen something like it, somewhere, and you felt like you were just on the edge of remembering for a second, but it slipped away before you could pin it down. You caught yourself tugging at a lock of your hair, a habit you hadn't indulged in since you were a kid, so you set the coloring book aside and sat on your hands.

 

Frisk finished up their worksheets in no time and after you checked their work for them, the two of you just hung out, playing Go Fish and chatting in ASL. They finished their glass of orange juice and shook their head when you offered more; you drank straight from the jug like a wild animal. Every noise from downstairs made you tense up, thinking that Scott had come home, and you tried so hard to play it cool that you didn't realize how often Frisk glanced out their window at the sky. Neither of you mentioned anything to do with that morning.

 

The moment the sunlight from outside started to dim, Frisk suddenly made a big show of yawning and rubbing at their eyes. _"I'm sleepy. I'm going to take a nap,"_ they signed.

 

"Ok," you said, and flopped back on their bed, closing your eyes. "G'night, Squirt."

 

They shoved at your shoulder, trying to roll you off onto the floor. "NnnnNNNNN!" they hummed. You cracked one eye to watch them sign, _"Get out, Chara! You're too big. Sleep in your own bed."_

 

You straightened your legs and wiggled your feet when they stuck out past the foot of the bed. "Ehhhh, ok, I guess you're right. Your tiny Keebler elf bed is too small to hold me." You rolled back up to a sitting position and reached out to run your fingers through your sibling's hair backward so it all fell into their face. They snorted in indignation and flailed their arms at you and you laughed-

 

The front door opened with a resounding _bang!_  that turned your guts to ice. You froze, the smile dropping off your face like a poorly-hung picture frame. When you looked down at Frisk, their eyes were wide and frightened and they looked from their closed door to you.

 

You heard Scott stomp across the living room to the bottom of the stairs. "Chara, get your ass down here! Now!!"

 

"'Kay..." you shouted back, your voice steady in a way that the rest of you really wasn't. Frisk grabbed your coat sleeve when you started to stand, shaking their head frantically. Even if they didn't know about your altercation with Frank, they still clearly knew what this was about. _"I have to go,"_ you signed to them so Scott wouldn't hear. _"If I don't, it'll just make him even more mad. Stay here."_ You pulled them into a quick but tight hug and dropped a kiss on the top of their head. 

 

A little extra steel found its way into your spine as you stepped out to face your foster father. He had already stomped off to the kitchen and you could hear him and Cindy sniping at each other in there.

 

You had never seen a couple who seemed to detest each other as much as they did. You couldn't get why they would stay married, let alone take in children to 'care' for together. From what you understand, they met and got married in a hurry, before they actually knew each other very well. Cindy wanted a good-looking husband to match her bubble-headed friends who all got married straight out of high school, but she was their token fat girl and they were all too shallow to believe she could get a man. Scott wanted a cushy job at her father's company without having to be qualified for it, so he started showering her with attention and flattery, and when he proposed she was only too happy to jump at the opportunity.

 

But within five years, the family company was found to be in violation of so many OSHA regulations that the fines looked more like phone numbers, so they went bankrupt trying to pay them and folded. Scott had to take a regular office job, and he began to lose his hair and his high school football muscle turned to flab. Without Scott's looks and Cindy's family money, they found that they had nothing in common. Scott developed anger issues and a drinking habit that he thought he was hiding. Cindy had always been accustomed to living well and when she suddenly wasn't, she became obsessed with maintaining the image of upper-middle class suburban prosperity in any way she could. She filled every flat surface in the house full of chalky pastel figurines and non-functional furniture, joined every book and bridge club that would take her, and went on crash diet after crash diet. It was the only reason she insisted they become a foster home: so she could have decorative children and join the PTA without having to gain weight again.

 

"-why you can't talk to Chara yourself, Cindy. You're the one who wanted her. Do you have any idea how much Vanessa bitched at me for taking a personal call at my cubicle?" He wasn't quite yelling, but his voice was raised enough to carry into the next room. Scott didn't dare yell at Cindy; she knew exactly how to make his life a living hell if he did. 

 

As you rounded the couch, you heard her sniff, "Well, maybe if you acted more like a man than a doormat, she wouldn't walk all over you. Maybe _you'd_ be _her_ manager." Cindy was sitting at the kitchen table, one of her diarrhea-colored health smoothies in front of her and the latest smutty novel dangling from her bony hand.

 

"Oh, please," Scott sneered. "Everybody knows she got the job because she fu-" He cut himself off when you strode in. "What's this I hear about you attacking Frank Bubker's kid? You know I've gotta see him at dart league next week, right? What the fuck am I supposed to tell him?!" His voice had jumped the few decibels into shouting. Cindy stood up and left the room, her nose already buried in her book.

 

You breezed past him to the fridge and put your orange juice back inside. "Fuck, I dunno, Scott. Tell him to keep his kid on a leash." You made eye contact with him and held it, your back ramrod straight. "That boy and his friend were bullying Frisk. He called them a 'retard' for signing. Slapped their hands. I only slapped him back."

 

Scott scoffed derisively. "Frisk needs to toughen up. All of h-"

 

" _Their,_ " you hissed.

 

" _Its_  'anxiety' bullshit can't last forever. You can't keep babying _it_ with this sign language nonsense-"

 

" _Them!_ " you cut him off again, anger rising up in your insides like lava. You've been misgendered so many times in your life that you've started picking your battles, but you will not let anyone intentionally misgender Frisk in your presence.

 

" _He, she, t_ _hem_ , _it_ , whatever!" Scott muttered something under his breath about "fucking _trannies_..." before he said, "Shane might be right. Maybe Frisk is retarded. Frisk isn't deaf. There's no reason why 'they' should use sign language. 'They' need to learn how to fucking talk like the rest of the kids 'their' age, and you're making it worse by playing along with that shit."

 

You bared your teeth, literally spitting with rage. " _Fuck_ you, Scott! You don't know the first fucking thing about Frisk. If you'd make the slightest effort to talk to them on their terms, you'd understand. Shit, it only took me two months to learn enough ASL to communicate with them. You trying to say you're stupider than I was when I was fifteen?" You turned to storm back through the living room. "Cindy's right; you are pathetic-"

 

One of Scott's meaty hands clamped hard around your upper arm and he jerked you back. The shooting pain sparked something deep within you and the red-hot anger that had been boiling in you suddenly turned icy cold. You were distantly aware of him screaming in your face, of his bruising grip on your arm, but it all, even your thoughts, seemed slow and muted. Your mouth twisted into a gruesome, painful smile as your hand snaked, of its own accord, toward the knife block on the counter behind you.

 

A blood-curdling shriek rang out, shocking you out of your trance. You froze, the carving knife in your fist a mere few inches from Scott's guts. Both of your heads whipped toward Frisk where they stood in the doorway, tears in their eyes and clutching one of Cindy's decorative feather dusters to their chest. They leaped at you and swung the thick, wooden handle down onto your hand, forcing you to drop the knife with a pained cry. Scott heard it clatter to the floor, let go of your arm, and jumped back where he crashed into the chair Cindy had left pulled out. As he tumbled over it backward, Frisk threw the feather duster away, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you out the back door. For some reason, you grabbed your backpack as you passed it.

 

Static buzzes in all of your senses and everything swirls sickeningly as your memories blur through the next chunk of time. This is all you really remember of that day, up until waking up at the bottom of that hole amid those nasty yellow flowers. When you asked Frisk about it during your stay at Toriel's house, they told you that you suggested crossing through the woods around the base of Mount Ebott to get to a friend's place. That you said the old legends would keep anybody from following the two of you through there. It sounded plausible enough but you must have hit your head when you fell, because you don't remember saying it. You expect the memories to fade out completely, so you're stunned to feel the static die down enough for unfamiliar images to swim into view. 

 

Frisk dragged you along a cracked and pitted backstreet, through a grassy lot, and across a rickety foot bridge somebody had slapped together over a stagnant drainage ditch.

 

"Where are we going...?" you mumbled. Your head felt like it was stuffed with bugs. Trying to concentrate on anything made them scrape and skitter over your nerve endings. Your arm, not the one that Scott had grabbed but the one that held the knife, was cramping.

 

Frisk flipped around to sign while they jogged backward. _"Somewhere we can be safe. Somewhere full of friends."_

 

"Ok..."

 

You followed them silently, your thoughts too muddled to question it further. Even when the overgrown footpath Frisk led you to started to angle up the foot of haunted Mount Ebott, you trailed after them. It wasn't until they ducked into a narrow crag between two huge slabs of stone that you started to really wonder where you were going.

 

"F-Frisk, are you sure...?" You hesitated, and they grabbed for your wrist again, pulling you through the crevice. You found yourself standing at the mouth of a black pit. Squeezing yourself between the stone slabs knocked a fist-sized rock loose and it plummeted into the darkness. There was no impact from it hitting the bottom. The bugs filling your head all fell silent as reality came rushing back to you and your thoughts cleared. You opened your mouth to ask Frisk what the hell was going on, but all that came out was a squeak when they suddenly lifted both hands and shoved you into the hole.

 

They rubbed a single circle onto their chest with their fist before they jumped in after you.

 

_"Sorry."_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Frisk trots through the dark passages of Waterfall, their footsteps splashing watery mud over their shoes. They found your echo flower message a minute ago, and they'd never been more relieved to hear your voice say _"Hey, Frisk! What do you call a flower that can't tell the truth? A lie-lac!_ _"_ It's proof that you've made it past Undyne! And you're in good enough shape to crack lame jokes! Still, they need to catch up to you as fast as they can. They don't bother with the ballet shoes and they sprint past Onionsan and Shyren at full speed before they can rope Frisk into a conversation or a concert.

 

But then they come to a roadblock they had forgotten about. The ledge just past the rain room. It's just a little too high for Frisk to jump up and grab the edge. They stand back and bite at their lip as they try to come up with a plan. They'd always had MK there to help boost them...

 

...Maybe if they put your coat into your backpack and stand on-

 

They suddenly hear someone running toward them from up ahead. The sound stops, there's an 'oof!', it starts up again, and then MK appears from the darkness. They're... crying?!

 

"Frisk!" the small monster sobs and dives off the ledge. They faceplant on the soft dirt and spring back up, throwing themself at Frisk and blubbering into their sweater. "I t-t-t-tried to st-stop her, dude, but sh-sh-she wouldn't liiiiiiisten!" they wail. "I'm sooooooooorry!!"

 

Frisk's hands shake when they push them back so they can sign. _"What are you talking about? What happened?"_

 

"Uh-Undyyyyyyyne!! She attacked and they f-f-fell! Chara's DEEEEEEAAD!! Waaaaaaahhhhh!!!" MK dissolves into tears.

 

Your baby sibling goes pale. No! NO! This wasn't supposed to happen! They reach for their Save file. They have to bring you back. They have to... 

 

They have to...

 

They hesitate. Take a deep breath. They have to find your body. They have to know for sure.

 

Frisk is filled with Determination.

 

_"I have to get to the dump. Now."_

 

 


	16. Rush and Ketchup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wrote most of this in like five hours :D
> 
> i haven't slept since monday morning haha

Sans pushes his chair back from the counter of his sentry station at the edge of Hotland. His shift is over and nobody has come by the whole time. Not a single civilian passing through, not Undyne stopping to yell at him for napping. Not even you. He almost caught himself wishing somebody would walk up, even if it meant he'd have to possibly do stuff. The solitude is kinda eerie.

 

He's in no rush to go to his hotdog stand, so he takes a quick shortcut to his station outside Snowdin. There's one sure way to beat the loneliness, and it's about time he talked to her. It has been a few days. And besides, there's a thing or two he'd like to ask her.

 

Slushy water drips from the trees around him as he strolls down the road toward the door to the Ruins. Every time there's a significant eruption in Hotland, the next day Snowdin gets these mini heat waves. Warm, dry air rolls through, melting down the snowpack with an audible crumpling sound. The lower areas always keep some of their snow, but the higher areas will sometimes be bared all the way to the dirt. The runoff collects in the river and flows through Waterfall and, depending on how big the eruption in Hotland was or how long it lasted, Waterfall will sometimes flood. Finally, the water makes its way to the Core, where it will all be flash vaporized and rise as steam to blanket the entire Underground in clouds, and a good amount of it will fall back to Snowdin as fresh snow.

 

It's a little inconvenient having to walk on the road when it's mushy like this, but it's even more inconvenient for the snow to get too deep, and the cold snap earlier in the day had threatened more on top of what was already on the ground. These rapid snow melts are essential to the Underground's ecosystem, so Sans can tolerate a bit of ice water in his slippers every now and again.

 

The door to the Ruins stands silent, closed as it ever is, when he reaches it. He pulls a hand from his hoodie pocket and gives the dark purple stone two firm knocks.

 

"knock, knock."

 

There's no answer, but then, there rarely is the first time Sans tries. His friend is usually doing other things. If he wasn't careful, she could talk his ear off - if he had ears - about baking pies or catching snails or tending the sickly tree in her yard. She's a busy lady, but if he keeps trying, she'll eventually hear the knocks and drop whatever else she's doing to come swap jokes.

 

"knock, knock."

 

The ground is too wet to sit, so Sans leans a shoulder against the door. It lets him rest the side of his head against it and listen to his knocks echoing off into the distance on the other side. No footsteps yet. No warm, friendly voice.

 

"knock. knock."

 

The uncomfortable thought occurs to him that maybe she will never come to the door. The last time he talked to her was two days before you and Frisk came out of the Ruins, when she asked him to watch over the next human to come through. Those were two whole days where anything could have happened between you and her. What if you killed her?

 

"...knock. knock."

 

Sans would like to think that Frisk wouldn't allow such a thing, that they'd tell somebody what you'd done or try to stop you, but how well does he really know the kid? His memories of their other runs, such as they are, are spotty at best. He doesn't remember them ever killing a monster, or allowing a monster to be hurt, but that doesn't mean that they never did. It just means he doesn't remember.

 

"...knock. ...knock."

 

But if the lady on the other side of the door is who Sans thinks she is, and you or even Frisk killed her, then it should be pretty obvious, right? A monster who absorbs a human Soul undergoes a hideous transformation, so a human who absorbs a boss monster Soul would have some kind of physical mutation or disfiguration too, right?

 

"...knock! knock!"

 

Unless you didn't know you could take her Soul. Unless you killed her in cold blood, just to watch her die. Unless you let her Soul shatter into a million pieces and her body dissolve into dust. Unless-

 

"Who is there?"

 

Unless she's alive.

 

Sans sags, a heavy weight lifted off of his Soul. If he was a touch more self aware, he might realize that he probably shouldn't jump to the worst possible conclusion without any actual evidence. As it is, he's nearly delirious with relief, and he has to scramble for a joke.

 

"b-ben," he says with a borderline giddy chuckle.

 

"Ben who?" the cheerful voice asks.

 

 _"ben_ knocking for ten minutes, what took you so long?"

 

Her delighted laugh is musical, like the tinkling of a windchime. "Ah, my apologies, my friend. I was talking to Napstablook, the ghost who sometimes visits the Ruins. Such a melancholy soul they are, the poor dear. They own the snail farm in Waterfall and I was just renewing my old order. They kept it in their books all this time, even after I... moved. I will not have to catch my own snails anymore, I am having them delivered! This will save me so much time and- Oh! Will you just listen to this old woman ramble! I have not even asked about your day. How are you, my dear friend?"

 

"oh, y'know. work's been slow. thought i'd drop by and say hey before heading off to the hotdog stand. didn't really _relish_ the thought of sitting around on my _buns_ again just yet."

 

"How very _frank_ of you to say so," she responds and they share a good, long laugh. When they settle down, Sans can hear the lady clear her throat. "How is- How are Frisk and Chara?" There's the slightest hesitation before she says your name. "Are they well?"

 

"yeah, they're ok, i guess. they made it to snowdin just fine and they've been cooking their own food so they're not in danger of eating anything paps made. i'd say they're surviving so far." He hopes she'll accept the watered-down version, because if he goes into too much detail she'll probably get pretty pissed at him.

 

"Well, that is good to hear. I... worry. Tell me, have they..." She pauses. "Have they behaved themselves?"

 

Sans cocks a brow bone. What's that supposed to mean? "any reason why they wouldn't?" he asks.

 

"Oh, no reason! I just thought... Ch-children do find all manner of ways to get into trouble, you know!" She laughs again and it sounds forced.

 

"did they cause trouble when they were in the ruins?"

 

"No, not at all. Frisk made friends of every monster they could find and helped me around the house. Such an energetic child. I do not think there is a single inch of the Ruins they did not explore. There are still Froggits coming to my door asking to play leap human with them. As for Chara..." There's that reluctance to say your name again. "I confined them to their bed as much as possible. They need to rest and allow their injury to heal, but they are... headstrong. _Determined._ "

 

Sans chuckles unkindly to himself. She can say that again. You could break rocks between that stubborn head and even more stubborn Soul of yours.

 

"so, about that wound, do you know where they got it?" he asks. The handprint on your arm is undeniably human, but if your guardian gave you those bruises, he wasn't the only one. The lady tells him about a strange flower monster who had been tormenting you, and it corroborates your story. You didn't lie about that part.

 

"how about their arm?" Sans asks. "what do you know about that?"

 

His friend is quiet for a moment. "Chara did not say and, I confess, I did not ask. ...I have seen an injury like that before, long ago." He stares at the carved stone of the door and waits for her to elaborate, but all he hears is the soft creak of nearby tree branches shedding their load of snow.

 

"ok...? well, did they say anything about where they come from? their home? their childhood?" he presses. The air is starting to gain back some of its chill and he knows that within the next few hours, the snowfall will start. He'll need to get to his hotdog stand soon to meet the rush of monsters looking to stock up on snacks to eat while they ride out the upcoming blizzard.

 

"They did not say much of consequence," she tells him. "My friend, do you not think this is something you should discuss with Chara themself? I know almost nothing about them. If you are upholding your promise to me, then, in guiding them and protecting them, you should have time enough to talk to them about these things, correct?" A thread of steel weaves its way into her voice. "You _are_ keeping your promise, are you not?"

 

An image of you dangling high above the ground, terror in your eyes, the phantom press of your Soul straining against his magic, flashes through his memory and guilty sweat beads on the back of Sans' skull. "yeah, sure," he says, sounding a lot more innocent than he feels. "i'm a skeleton of my word. i just, uh, i just didn't think they would be comfortable talking to me about this stuff. we're not exactly friends yet."

 

He catches a rustle of fabric and he thinks maybe the lady has moved to lean against her side of the door. "I see... Perhaps if you let them know how concerned you are for them, that could change."

 

"uh, yeah, maybe..." he mumbles. Cold sweat trickles down his vertebrae. After all the lies he's told and secrets he's kept, he never thought he'd have to lie to this person. He knows that she's got her own secrets, but lying to her just doesn't sit right with him. "can i ask you something?"

 

"Of course you may," she says, gently stressing the 'may' like a school teacher correcting a student.

 

If she is who Sans thinks she is, then he almost hates to bring this up, but it has to be done. "do you think it's... weird that this human looks like chara dreemurr? and that they have the same name?"

 

He hears the lady pull in a sharp breath. "They do not," she states, her voice suddenly flat.

 

"what-?"

 

"They do not have the same name," she elaborates. "This human's name is Chara Ebott."

 

"huh." Sans is taken aback. It had never occurred to him that your last name would be anything besides Dreemurr. All of his doubts come rushing back to the surface of his mind. Is he really doing the right thing here? Is anything - his hatred, his actions - is any of it justifed? He is pulled back to the moment when his friend starts to speak again.

 

"But to answer your question," she begins and then hesitates. She's silent for a long, long moment. When she continues, her voice is so soft that the patter of melted snow dripping from the trees is almost enough to drown her out. "I admit that I was very... surprised when I first met them. The resemblance is..." She trails off and Sans hears a small sound like a sigh. "At any rate, this Chara is a good, kind child. I... I can only hope that they do not come to as untimely an end as my- As Chara Dreemurr."

 

"...right." The knowledge that he might be the one to see to it that she doesn't get her wish settles heavy in Sans' guts. If, y'know, he had any. "whelp," he pushes off the door and takes a step back, and if he feels like he's backing away from his guilt too, he pushes the thought down deep. "i'd better get to the hotdog stand. it was great to _ketchup_ with you."

 

"Goodbye, friend. You _mustard_ come to visit again soon," the lady says.

 

Neither of them laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Papyrus laughs loudly to himself. He has put his BRILLIANT MIND to work and has come up with a most BRILLIANT PLAN! And, of course, a PLAN as magnificent and flawless as this requires the most magnificent and flawless pasta, made by none other than the master of pasta noodles himself, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!! NYEH HEH HEH!

 

He carefully runs his homemade dough through his pasta press, turning the crank by hand at a precisely uniform speed to ensure that his noodles turn out a perfect, uniform thickness. It takes a lot of extra time and effort to make these noodles from scratch, and it would be much easier to use the store-bought stuff, but for this PLAN, only the best will do. Papyrus has very high standards.

 

The PLAN has the working title of 'THE GREAT PAPYRUS' SUPER AWESOME UNDYNE-CHARA ENDEARMENT PLAN (AND SANS, TOO).' Or SAUCE, for short. Or, TGPSAUCEP(AST) for short, actually. But SAUCE is easier to say in conversation! And inner monologues!

 

The problem of how to get you, Undyne, and Sans to all be friends had been eating away at Papyrus, until he realized that that was precisely what the three of you need to do: eat!

 

Of course, he has the utmost faith that you, the Frisk human, and Undyne could become friends just fine on your own, with minimal interference from him. Undyne may be super tough but she has a Kind Soul and once she saw what good people you and Frisk are, she would never be able to resist befriending both of you. It's Sans that's the real problem. He's a much messier tomato to squish. And not just because he's full of ketchup, NYEH!

 

And, thus, the need for SAUCE! 

The PLAN is as simple as it is elegant: Papyrus will present you with his world-renowned handmade noodles and ask you to use them in a demonstration of your otherworldly Aboveground spaghetti-making technique, for which he and Undyne will be the audience. Then, when your divine culinary masterpiece is complete, Papyrus will serve it to everyone and ~~demand~~ invite Sans to try some without telling him who really made it. And then! After Sans has eaten it, Papyrus will reveal to everyone that they just ate Friendship Spaghetti!

 

YOUR Friendship Spaghetti!!

 

Undyne and Sans (but mostly Sans) will have no choice but to be friends with you! Accepting Friendship Spaghetti is legally binding (according to Papyrus, at least).

 

They will be shocked and astounded! BOTH of them thoroughly japed by THE GREAT TRICKMASTER PAPYRUS, NYEH HEH-

 

Papyrus' cell phone suddenly rings, cutting his inner monologue short. The hand holding the rolled pasta dough slips and the dough stretches too thin and tears. He clicks his metaphorical tongue, which somehow produces a non-metaphorical sound, because now he'll have to start all over again. For the fifth time today. He balls up the ruined dough and pitches it toward the pile of dough in the trash can. 

 

"HELLO, YOU HAVE REACHED THE OFFICE OF THE FUTURE EXECUTIVE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD, PAPYRUS!" he shouts into his phone when he answers. "WHO MAY I TELL MYSELF IS CALLING?"

 

He doesn't hear anything at first, and after a few moments he starts to think maybe it was a ghost call. Those happen sometimes, when signals from outside the barrier get inside but the answering signals can't get out. They usually sound like static-filled silence, or mangled gibberish. Something about the barrier's magic scrambles the frequencies.

 

But when he listens closer, he hears a sniffle and a choked sob. He almost doesn't recognize the voice because he's only ever heard them laugh. "...FRISK HUMAN?" he asks.

 

There's a hiccup and a very, very quiet "Uh huh..." and the faint chatter of another voice in the background. Papyrus has cup his hand over his phone and press it hard into the side of his head to make any of it out.

 

"...................-be dead-.....-Chara, noooo-....-my fault!.........nooo nooooooo-........." 

 

Papyrus' very Soul freezes in the core of him. Oh, God, NO...

 

"C-come to-" Frisk whispers, "The d-dump- Pl-please- Now- H-hur-ry..."

 

Another wrenching sob comes from the speaker, but Papyrus already dropped the phone to the floor and is running at a dead sprint toward Waterfall.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pretty much how im gonna do the rest of this fic. just little snapshots of what everybody else is doing before i eventually get back to chara being super effing dead lol
> 
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> not really, please don't kill me  
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	17. A Shell of a Time

 

 

It's the cloying smell of flowers that wakes you.

 

You're lying on the ground with your face buried in a mound of too-sweet yellow blooms. You figure you must have been there for a while, because the arm you're laying on is asleep. And - hold on a second, hasn't this already happened before?

 

The memories that had been shaken loose by your impact with the ground rush through your mind again on fast forward. "Ugh. Humpty Dumpty was pushed..." you croak when you remember how Frisk had lured you up the mountain and shoved you into that hole. Why the hell would they do something like that..?

 

It takes a lot more effort than usual to open your crusty eyes, but when you do, your bleary vision is filled with those awful yellow flowers. You stare at them blankly, your mouth half open on a bewildered curse. It... It can't be. It doesn't make any sense. How..?

 

How the fuck did you end up all the way back in the Ruins?!

 

Oh, God, that means Frisk-!

 

You plant your not-asleep hand on the ground to push yourself up, squashing a fistful of flowers and prickling yourself on their tiny thorns. You suck in a breath to call out for your sibling to get away from Flowey, but your movement raises a cloud of pollen that forces a sneeze from you which rips your lungs right out along with it. Excruciating pain lances through your side and you collapse and roll onto your back with a choked sob. Tears course from the corners of your eyes and into your hair as you writhe and kick mindlessly against the agony.

 

When it finally dies down to where it feels like you're only kind of dying, you carefully turn onto your uninjured side, keeping your breaths shallow. You rub the tears and gunk out of your eyes so you can look around, and you see that you aren't in the Ruins after all. Wherever you are now is dark and balmy and lit by a few glowing crystals high up in the shadows above you. You must still be in Waterfall. Around you is lots of standing water and gathered up against the stone walls are piles of moldering trash. Didn't MK say you were going to a dump? Because this is a dump if you ever saw one. You suppose it's fitting that you landed in the dump, because you feel like absolute garbage right now.

 

Cautiously, you make your way to your feet, feeling like your ribcage is being branded every time you twist or bend or move the arm on that side. Once you're upright, you become aware of a dull ache in your knee and another in the back of your head. When you investigate with your fingertips, you find a lump on your scalp. You must have hit your head when you landed, but there's no blood, so that's good, right? Checking your knee will have to wait. There is no way you're going to bend down to touch it. It holds your weight, and that will just have to do for now.

 

Walking with a limp hurts bad enough, but slogging through the ankle-deep water proves extra treacherous because the ground underneath is uneven and scattered with rocks and submerged trash. Every time you step in a shallow hole or stumble over an object, it's like someone is sticking a fork between your ribs from the inside and you want to die. You find yourself cursing Sans for being a pussy and not finishing you off in Snowdin.

 

By the time you find the way out you're dripping with sweat and your nose is running. You have to keep wiping it on your sleeve because you can't pull in a breath deep enough to blow it, but you still have pollen clinging to your clothes, so that only makes it worse.

 

"Hahaha... It's just like you to run away!" a voice screeches suddenly, making you gasp which in turn makes your knees go weak from a fresh stab of pain.

 

"HAH... ah... What the... fuck..." you pant, looking over at a scraggly dummy levitating above the water nearby. You'd been so focused on staggering forward you'd almost passed right by without noticing them. Their googly eyes glare at you from beneath angry eyebrows and they strain their stitches in fury, leaking tufts of stuffing. You don't know what their problem is, but you are sure they're going to want to fight and you're not in the mood to comply. You turn away from them and trudge on.

 

"I am a ghost that lives inside- W-wait! Stop. Stop! STOP! Where do you think you're going, HUMAN? GET BACK HERE!" the dummy howls. They rocket past you and try to block your path, scattering more fluff. You pick up the scent of damp dryer lint. "You're going to pay for what you said to my cousin! Horrible. Despicable! UNBELIEVABLE-"

 

"No," you cut them off decisively and shoulder past them. You're in a crapload of pain, your nerves are scraped raw from flashing back to... Robbie, and your head is still swimming with what might be a mild concussion. You're too fucked up to deal with anybody's shit right now. There are going to be no more stupid fucking delays. You've had enough.

 

You feel the familiar semi-tangible pull you've come to understand as _magic_ in the middle of your chest and... And you _refuse_. Without really thinking about what you're doing, determination wells up within you and you just kinda jerk back on the sensation. Your stomach flips and goosebumps jump out on your skin, but that's all. Your Soul doesn't emerge.

 

You and the dummy share a dumbfounded look, neither of you quite understanding what happened. "What. What! WHAT!!!" they shriek, glowing red with rage. Steam rolls off them and the smell of freshly ironed fabric intensifies. They tug on your Soul harder and you grit your teeth and dig in your figurative heels. The taste of static electricity dances across the fillings in your molars, but your Soul stays lodged firmly behind your sternum.

 

"I said... no!" you grind out. "I've got... shit to do..."

 

"You CAN'T do that! Ludicrous. Preposterous! INCONCEIVABLE!!! I've NEVER been more mad!!!" they scream, yanking at your Soul over and over. It shudders inside you and sweat trickles in rivulets down your spine from the strain, but you won't let go. The dummy makes a sound that's a cross between a whistling teakettle and thick canvas being ripped and thrashes through the air in a crazed armless ska dance.

 

Their screams quickly devolve into wordless bellows and ramp up in volume until abruptly, they cut out with a noise like somebody thumping a body pillow with a tennis racket. The dummy falls out of the air and lands with a splash in the water, wobbling dramatically for a moment before righting themself.

 

"...? I... I can't believe it... I got so mad that I... I finally fused with my body! I'm fully corporeal now!" The dummy twirls on their stand, looking themself over. You guess they seem more put together than they did; their stitches are tighter and more even and their fabric looks less threadbare. There's not a fiber of stuffing in sight. You think you detect a hint of fabric softener in the air. They give you a sweet smile that's the polar opposite of their furious expression from a minute ago. "I don't feel like fighting anymore. I'll just forget about whatever you said to ol' what's-their-name, how does that sound?"

 

You find a semi-comfortable position for your arm that doesn't put as much stress on your ribs and hold it there with your free hand. "Sounds great," you say. "Have fun with your... tangibility or whatever..."

 

They follow as you leave the dump, hopping on their stand and splashing the backs of your legs with water. "All these years of living in a dummy and to think, all it took was a human making me UNIMAGINABLY ANGRY to fuse me with it. Wow. Wow! WOW! I really owe you one."

 

"Don't mention it..." you grumble. Walking and talking at the same time are kind of beyond you right now. Outside of the dump is an open area with a small pond of crystal clear water in the center and five paths branching from it. "Um. Which way to... the ferry?" you ask the dummy.

 

"The Riverperson's launch is that way," they tell you, turning toward the path on the right hand side. "I'll be going this way, to Undyne's house." They indicate the second path from the left. "I make my living as her training dummy. I can't wait to tell her the good news!"

 

Undyne's house, huh? "Say, if you really... wanna do me a favor... could you throw a rock or something... at her house for me?" It would serve her right. Taking your Soul is her job, but busting you up like this is pretty fucking extra. You can't help but take it personally.

 

"Yeah. Yeah! YEAH! I can do that!" the dummy laughs, hopping away. They're probably too excited about being solid to really think about what they're agreeing to, but that's hardly your problem. You carefully make your way down the right hand path.

 

It immediately occurs to you that you should have asked for actual directions all the way to the ferry, because the path splits off into two and you have no idea which way you should go. Again. You (gingerly) slump against a wall and cover your face with your hand, your frustration and pain colliding together to overwhelm you. Tears sting your eyes. Can you just catch one tiny fucking break? Is it just too much to fucking ask??

 

You're startled by the sound of a door opening right in front of you and you look up. The wizened face of an elderly turtle monster pokes out of a doorway you hadn't noticed, just feet away, and peers at you with one rheumy eye.

 

"Who'n blazes- What's all this boo hooing about?" he warbles. You try to reply, but all that comes out is a few stuttered syllables as the tears flow even faster down your cheeks. He glances over your mud-stained clothes, rat's nest of hair, and the way you clutch your arm against your side before he tilts his head to motion you in. "Get your sorry hide in here, young'un. You look like you're fit to keel over."

 

If you had your faculties, you'd probably decline, but you're in no position to turn down even the smallest offer of help, so you follow. Past the door is a crowded little shop, filled mostly with stacks of books and baskets of weird fruits, and scattered here and there among bits of junk are arcane-looking artifacts and a few valuable human-made trinkets. The turtle orders you to sit on a squat stool and promptly disappears behind some stacks into what you guess is a back room. When he comes back, he presses a glowing mug of something grayish and cloudy into your hands.

 

"Drink this. It'll take the edge off."

 

"Is it booze?" you ask, sniffing it suspiciously. It smells like a tidal pool on a hot beach without a trace of alcohol, but you never really know.

 

"Wa ha ha! No, that's just Sea Tea. You think I waste the good stuff on freeloaders, pup? If you want hooch, you'll have to pay. This ain't a charity for wayward drunks! Now, down the hatch, and that's an order." He shuffles around his shop - his huge shell narrowly misses bumping into his wares and sending them to the floor - and gathers an assortment of items.

 

"Yes, sir." You obediently take a sip of your tea. It's salty and there are thin strips of seaweed floating in it, but the saltiness is cut by an underlying sweetness and it's actually kinda good. Like miso soup, but not. When the pain in your chest eases off slightly, you gulp down some more.

 

The turtle kicks your stool closer to the counter where he dumps out an armful of stuff. Bandages and a mostly empty glass bottle of rubbing alcohol, a pincushion full of needles, a spool of thread, and a huge pair of shears. "Alright," he says briskly, "that tea will only numb you up some and give you back a little HP. It won't do beans to heal your body. But! You just so happen to be looking at one of the only monsters in the whole Underground what's versed in human medicine!"

 

You reflexively start to say, "I-I'm not a-" but he cuffs you upside the ear. It doesn't hurt but it does make you slosh tea onto your jeans in surprise.

 

"Don't you lie to me, you dadblasted whippersnapper!" he barks, one sharp claw pointed between your eyes. "I may be old, but I ain't senile! I know darned well what a human looks like. Fought enough of 'em in the War. Fought alongside a few, too." His eye slides away from your face like he's picturing a bygone age, and then snaps back to focus on you. "Now button your crumb catcher and let's have a look at your wounds!"

 

His tone leaves no room to argue. You squeak, "Yes, sir!" and pull up the side of your shirt and undershirt with your good arm to show him your bandages. His beaky mouth twists into a frown.

 

"Might as well just take all that off. Can't get at you with it all on," he says. When you hesitate, he rolls his eye. "Oh, don't get your dander up. All you kids these days have your minds in the gutter, I swear! I'll have to unwrap your bandages and it would be a damn sight easier if your shirts wasn't in the way."

 

You suppose that's a fair point, so you ignore the twinge of awkwardness and let him hold your tea so you can take your shirts off. The going is slow since you still can't really move the arm on your injured side without triggering sharp spikes of pain. "B'sides," the turtle says while you work, "you ain't gonna get a rise out of these creaky old bones, anyhow. I'm so old, when the dinosaurs disappeared, they hauled me in for questioning! Wa ha ha!"

 

Ok, so laughing still hurts. You cut yourself off with a grunt. Your reptilian friend waits until you have your shirts off, and then hands you back your tea with an order to finish it. You shotgun the rest of it as quickly as you can. The last few mouthfuls are heavy with grittiness that you'd swear was actual sand, except it's sweet like coarse sugar and tastes faintly of molasses. At the bottom of the mug is a tiny starfish, complete with rows of bioluminescent speckles running down its arms. It's so realistic, you're afraid for a second that it's alive, until you fish it out with your fingers to examine in the light and see that it's made of candy. The outer shell cracks when you bite into it and the inside is filled with salted caramel.

 

Tingling numbness spreads through you, from just behind your sternum to the very tips of your fingers and toes, making your body feel loose and light. The wave of relief you feel is tempered by the fact that you've just ingested god knows how much magic, and you're unsure how it will affect you. Going into another of those dissociative states right now would probably suck, but you suppose it's too late to take it back. You'll just have to try to fight it if you feel one coming on.

 

You raise your arms when you're instructed and the turtle begins to unwind the wet bandages from around your torso. He asks where else you're ailing and you tell him about your knee and the lump on the back of your head. He cackles when you call him 'sir' again.

 

"Being called 'sir' makes me feel old. If you make me feel any older, I'll crumble to dust right here in my galoshes! Just call me Gerson," he says. "But I appreciate it. Too many of you youngsters have no respect for your elders. Now, tell me what happened here." He runs the backs of his claws down your side, straight through the middle of your bruises and you hiss and flinch away. Even with the anesthetic powers of the Sea Tea, it still hurts to have them touched directly.

 

When you look down at them, you see that they've spread out, the old bruises that had evened out to a mostly uniform blackish purple now layered under fresh reddish splotches that creep outward toward your hip and bellybutton. The old set still bear the pattern of Flowey's vines, but the new ones are randomly sized blobs, which makes you think that maybe some rocks broke your fall.

 

You tell Gerson about Undyne and the broken bridge and how her green magic had prevented you from moving to safety. His bushy brows draw down in a scowl.

 

"What was that girl thinking, jumping on that rickety old mess of sticks? She knows darn well her armor is too heavy. And using cheap tricks to win Fights! I thought I taught her to fight with more honor than that. I'll learn her a thing or two next time I see her, don't think I won't!" He glares into the distance and you stay quiet so it doesn't get aimed at you. When he meets your eyes again, his fiery expression has cooled. "The Queen's Barrier should have caught you; slowed you down so you wouldn't get so bungled up."

 

"The Queen's Barrier?"

 

Gerson's claws are gentle as they comb through your hair and trace lightly over the knot on your scalp. "Yessirree. Back when that bridge was built, the Queen insisted on putting up a two-way barrier - a safety net of sorts - to catch monsters what fall off the durn thing but still allow them to pass through, coming and going. Ol' King Fluffybuns named it the Queen's Barrier." He flashes you a conspiratorial smile with all five of his teeth. "He's always been rotten at naming things."

 

You bow your head so he can part your hair away from the lump and take a look at it. "Huh. I think I remember hitting something... It kinda felt like falling through a tarp that wasn't tied down on the sides. It didn't slow me down much, though."

 

"You're alive, ain't ya? That fall is plenty far enough to kill. Maybe humans are just harder to catch than monsters, being made of physical matter and all." He prods at your scalp while you hold as still as you can. The tea keeps you from feeling it much and wriggling only hurts your ribs. "Or maybe the magic is finally starting to wear off, now that the Queen has been gone for near a hundred years. She isn't around to renew it."

 

"I'm sorry to hear that," you say softly. A face rises to the surface of your memories and for once you don't fight it. You just smile sadly. "It's always rough when people pass away."

 

Gerson shoves your shoulder and you almost topple off the stool. Your mental image of Robbie's smiling, freckled face evaporates. "The Queen ain't dead, ya idjit! She left."

 

"L-left?" Left how? Like, she left the Underground? You thought monsters couldn't do that.

 

"Yes, left. When her two children died and King Asgore declared another war on humans, she up and left. Abdicated the throne and went into hiding. Said she wouldn't rule alongside a fool who couldn't learn from the past. No one has seen hide nor hair of her since. Roll up your pant leg so we can see that knee."

 

You struggle to obey; nothing in the world is harder to slide against skin than wet denim. Impatient, Gerson grabs the comically oversized shears he'd found and snips through the cuff at your ankle, then rips your jeans nearly up to your hip with one sharp tug.

 

"Hey!" you whine.

 

He levels a stern look at you with his one eye. "Oh, don't tell me you were thinking you could salvage those ratty old rags. Just look at 'em. They were already ripped and stained to hell to boot!"

 

"Well, yeah, but I don't have anything else to wear," you counter. "How am I supposed to walk anywhere with one half of my pants flapping around?"

 

"Mn. Alright, I didn't think of that..." Gerson ducks his wrinkled head guiltily over your leg and begins kneading at the bruises there with the blunt sides of his claws. Your knee is swollen but it doesn't bend in any direction it shouldn't and the kneecap is in the right place. He wraps it with a clean bandage and after making sure you can still feel your toes, he uses the needle and thread to sew up the split in your jeans with a shaky whip stitch. "There! Good as new," he declares.

 

"Gee, thanks," you say blandly, but you huff out something that's as close to a laugh as you're going to get. "So... You said the Queen's children died. What did that have to do with humans?" From what you gathered, the Great War had happened a lot longer ago than just a hundred years. There's no way they'd been casualties.

 

Gerson's hands still on your wrist and he looks up from a scrape you hadn't noticed on the back of your forearm. "That's a long story, child."

 

You shrug the shoulder on your uninjured side. "I'm not going anywhere if you aren't."

 

"Well, all right, if you gotta know." He resumes poking and nudging at you in search of wounds. "The King and Queen took in a human child, the first human to fall into the Underground since the War, and raised them alongside their natural-born son, Prince Asriel." His voice and eye fill with wistful contemplation. "The two of them were our hope for the future. We thought that they would someday grow up to rule us together. That once we found a way to break the barrier, they would be able to broker a true, lasting peace between monsters and humans.

 

"But out of the blue, the human child grew ill and died. It was the damnedest thing... One day they were hale and hearty, and the next they were on their death bed. Everyone at the castle was so deep in mourning, they lost track of little Asriel. Before anyone could stop him, he took his sibling's Soul and their body and crossed the Barrier. The humans on the surface must have seen him, a monster, carrying a dead human child, and attacked him. When he returned, he died, too. Right there in the castle courtyard, before his parents' eyes."

 

"Jesus..." you breathe.

 

Gerson shuffles behind you to examine your back. "The King was under pressure to Act, and with the heartbroken eyes of every monster looking to him for answers, no less. It didn't take long for his grief to turn to rage. He declared war on the humans and ordered that any human who fell into the Underground was to be brought to him, so he could take their Soul. Y'see, since it took seven human mages to create the barrier, we figure it would take an equal amount of power to break it."

 

"Seven Souls..." An uneasy feeling shudders down your spine. You wish for the millionth time that Frisk was with you where you could watch over and protect them. "How many does he have?"

 

His hands slow to a stop and he leans back against the counter. His voice is just _so tired_ when he says, "Six."

 

You're quiet for a moment. All the monsters need is one more Soul and they're free, but... "If he only needs one more Soul, why has just about every monster so far been so... laid-back about it? Like, even you." You gesture to indicate your Sea Tea mug and your wrapped knee. "Undyne seems to be the only one to actually want to see me dead." Well, except Sans, but you're certain the Barrier has nothing to do with that.

 

Gerson chuckles wryly. "Whelp, that girl never did learn when to let an idea go. Once Asgore put it into her head that she needed to kill humans 'for the good of all monsters,' she never stopped to think that maybe it didn't have to be that way. See, it would only take one human Soul to get us out of here."

 

"But you just said-" you start to protest, but he cuffs you upside the ear again for interrupting and you pipe down.

 

"It takes seven Souls to break the Barrier, but it only takes one to pass through. How did you think Prince Asriel got out?"

 

"Oh, yeah..." You don't know why you didn't catch that. "So, if Asgore took one Soul through the Barrier, and then picked up six more on the surface, he could come back and break it down. Six human Souls would be plenty easy to find on the surface. There are billions of humans now and _somebody_ dies _somewhere_ like all the time. He wouldn't even have to kill anybody else if he didn't want to."

 

"Exactly. Those of us with a lick of sense figured that out pretty quick, once we thought it through. There were still some who said the King would do the right thing and use a Soul to cross the Barrier, even after he'd killed a second human. After the fourth, we knew - Asgore doesn't intend to break the Barrier. Nobody really knows why, but _I_ think he's doing this to draw the Queen out of hiding, force her to stop him from killing. Maybe he wants her to take the kingdom from him. Maybe he even wants her to kill him..."

 

Gerson clears his throat after a moment, picks up a long bandage and starts rolling it up into a neat cylinder. "At any rate, most monsters see that there's no need to kill, so unless a human proves themself to be hostile, we'll let them go along their merry way."

 

"Well, I wish there was a community bulletin board or something where we could post that we're not hostile, because getting hit in the Soul with magic attacks while a monster figures that out friggin' _hurts_." You rub at your sternum with a frown, remembering your Fight with Aaron. "And my baby sibling is here with me. I- I _hate_ even just the idea of them having to go through that. They're just a little kid..."

 

"Hmmmm..." The turtle taps his beak with the rolled bandage while he thinks. "I don't know about a bulletin board, but let ol' Gerson see what he can do."

 

If there's a way to get the word out to all the monsters that you and Frisk mean them no harm, that would be great. If you didn't have to stop to Fight every monster you meet, you'd probably be at the castle by now. Then, you'd just have to get past King Asgore.

 

You hunch into yourself, the hard packed dirt of the floor suddenly catching your interest. Heaviness settles into the pit of your stomach. "When me and Frisk get to the castle... If it comes down to it, and Asgore won't let us through without killing one of us, I'll- I'll give up my Soul to protect Frisk. I've, uh, actually lost a sibling before.... I don't think I could do it again." Gerson had started getting ready to wrap your ribs, but he stops and waits for you to finish your thought. "I mean... I'd hate to do that to Frisk, but maybe I could give them some words of wisdom or something. You know, say something to help them cope with it somehow, before I die."

 

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, for your Frisk's sake. There's not a lot that can prepare a person to lose a loved one."

 

"Yeah..." you sigh. The pain you'd felt when Robbie died bubbles up in your heart like tar. It's just an echo of a memory, but it feels no less fresh than the day it happened. "Y'know, I think I can understand how Prince Asriel felt..." The name sticks to the roof of your mouth, like your tongue doesn't want to form the syllables, and you taste something bitter. You force yourself to focus against a sudden wave of dizziness, determined to keep your wits about you. Fuck you, dissociative states. Not now. "I can't begin to guess what he was trying to do when he crossed the Barrier, but like, I get it. I did stuff I probably shouldn't have after my brother died. Grief is a hell of a drug."

 

Gerson directs you to sit up as straight as you can and you cross your arms to keep them out of the way while he binds your ribs with surprising skill. He's even better at this than Toriel. "Those poor children... They were so close. The best of friends, really. I truly believe Asriel helped the little human come out of their shell." He ties off the bandage and shuffles around to your other side to check the tightness. "They were so withdrawn the day they fell through the Barrier. The Queen called me to the castle to tend to... their wounds..."

 

You look up at him when he trails off and see that he's staring at your bicep with a wide eye. He takes your arm in his hands and turns it over to see more of the fading bruises. You reflexively try to cover them with your hand. "These..." he mutters to himself, "These are... just like Chara's..."

 

You cock your head to the side at the mention of your name, confused. You don't remember telling him your name. "What's just like me?" you ask.

 

Gerson drags his eye from your arm to your face and then suddenly lurches forward, shoving your hair back with both hands. He grabs the sides of your head and yanks you toward the flickering lamp and deeper into its pool of light. He frantically searches your eyes. When he speaks, his voice is somehow filled with both disbelief and reverence.

 

"It can't be... Ch-Chara...?"

 

"Uh? Yes??" You pull against his hold. What the fuck is happening?

 

Tears well up in his eye. "Chara Dreemurr..." he whispers.

 

Ok wait up, who?? "N-no? My last name is Ebott..."

 

Gerson's face goes slack and he releases you, looking shell-shocked. He stares through you for a moment before he scrubs the tears from his eye with a borderline hysterical laugh that's painful to hear. "Ah! Yes! I see," he exclaims. "You- You'll have to excuse an old man for his eccentricities, child." He tries to escape into his back room, but you catch the sleeve of his khaki shirt and stop him.

 

"What's going on, Gerson? Who is Chara Dreemurr?" You're not going to let him play this off. It's about damn time somebody around here stopped dodging your questions and just gave you some damn answers already.

 

He heaves a heavy sigh and quietly admits, "The royal family's human child. Their name was Chara Dreemurr." Tilting his head, Gerson squints at you from under the brim of his safari hat. "You're a sight older than they were, but you're the very spit of them. It's uncanny..."

 

Whoa. Awkward... "But they're... They died a long time ago, right?"

 

"They did. As I said, you'll have to forgive an old man. For a moment there, I thought the ghosts of my past were coming back to haunt me. I must be getting confused in my old age, after all." You let go of his shirt and he trundles off behind his stacks of junk.

 

"...But it's one helluva coincidence that we look alike and have the same first name," you call, your voice raised slightly so he can hear you. "'Chara' isn't a common name, topside. I've actually never heard of another human named Chara. ...Hey, is this why my friend Sassafras in Snowdin gave me a funny look when I introduced myself?"

 

Gerson shuffles back into view and hands you a sealed mason jar. You hold it up to the light and peer inside, and it looks like a cross-section of the ocean floor, complete with sand, seaweed, and a bioluminescent miniature squid. More Sea Tea. "I'd say so, yes," he tells you. "I expect some of the older monsters you meet are going to be none too happy to know that you bear the name of one of our dead princets."

 

Princet! There _is_ a gender-neutral equivalent for 'prince,' you knew it!

 

"To tell the truth, you're giving me the heebie-jeebies, too, kid," Gerson says. He tosses your shirts at you and frog-marches you quickly toward the door. "So if you're as patched up as you're gonna get, you should make tracks on outta my shop. Take that tea for the road. It's on the house, but just this once, understand? I don't want you sniffin' around here, looking for handouts. Now, go on, get!" He practically throws you out the door.

 

You manage to say "Thank you, Gerson!" just before he slams the door closed. "O...kay," you mumble once you're alone again in the labyrinth of damp corridors that is Waterfall, feeling put out, in more than one sense of the phrase. That was... weird. Like, the last minute was the strangest part, but the entire time you'd spent in Gerson's shop was weird in one way or another, if you're honest. But at least you're better off than you were. You're freshly bandaged and you've got enough tea to get you to the Riverperson, as long as you avoid any more detours or Fights.

 

You pick a direction and begin walking. Thick darkness closes around you, lit only by a few glowing crystals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reports of chara's death have been greatly exaggerated


	18. Trying to get a HOLD ON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow. its been over a year since i posted a chapter. personally, i blame trump. i write less when im depressed, so

Frisk stands in the middle of a patch of golden flowers.  

 

MK had cried the whole way to the dump and when they reached the edge of the water, they broke down completely and couldn't go on. Frisk gathered up their courage and waded the rest of the way on their own. They dreaded what they would find, but they were determined to continue.

 

The sight of crushed plants is bittersweet.

 

On one hand, your body isn't here, which is terrific and a huge relief. You're alive! But on the other hand, you're wandering around alone _yet again_. Once Frisk finds you, so help them, they're gonna tie one of your legs to one of theirs and the two of you are gonna finish the journey through the entire Underground three-legged race style. That'll darn sure keep you where they can see you.

 

Frisk turns to leave the dump; they need to tell MK that you're alive and then find. You. NOW. But they catch a tiny movement out of the corner of their eye and look there just in time to see one of the flowers try to slip away under the others. They lunge and make a mad grab for its stem and manage to get a hand around Flowey before he can disappear into the wet mud.

 

The flower hisses and thrashes. "Awfully handsy this time, aren't you!?" he snaps. "Let go!" He bites at their wrist but Frisk slides their hands up underneath Flowey's blossom and grips his head the way a person would hold an angry snake.

 

"Wh..." Frisk tries hard to force out the words. They open their mouth and _push_ and the words are there, they're _all. right. there._  just crowding and shoving to get out but nothing will come. So they grit their teeth and shake Flowey, squeezing his stem, and try again. "W-where..."

 

A smug smirk stretches over Flowey's face and he stops struggling. "Aw, what's wrong, human? Could you be  _looking for something?_ "

 

Frisk cautiously lets go so they can sign. _"What did you do to my sibling??"_ they demand.

 

"YOUR sibling?" Flowey laughs, loud and mocking. "Gosh, that's just RICH!" His face twists into a cruel grin. "You really don't know ANYTHING, do you?"

 

 _"Shut up!"_ Frisk signs with so much force that they almost punch themself in the mouth. _"Where is Chara?! Tell me now!!"_

 

Flowey starts to say something but stops himself, sighs and shakes his head. "There's really no point talking to an idiot like you, so-" And with no other warning, he disappears under ground. Frisk is left frantically digging at the mud with their hands, trying to drag him back, but he's gone.

 

MK finds them kneeling among the flowers. They cautiously tip toe through the dirty water, still sniffling and trying to both look everywhere else and peek over Frisk's shoulder at the same time.

 

"Dude... Is...? Is Ch-Chara...?" they whisper.

 

Frisk tears a handful of yellow flowers out of the ground and shreds them in frustration as they stand up. _"No,"_ they tell MK. _"Chara is alive. But they wandered off. We have to go look for them."_

 

MK nearly slumps into the dump water in relief. "Thank the stars! I really thought- I was so s-sure-" Their words choke off as more tears well up in their eyes and they shake themself and take a deep breath. "Hey, yo... Um. Were you just talking to somebody...?"

 

Frisk glares at the flowers for a second, but shakes their head. _"No. Let's go."_ They step into the water, ready to leave, except they notice something else...

 

There's a strange sound in the distance. Some kind of rattling/thumping noise, almost unable to be heard at first over the dripping and splashing of Waterfall. It gets louder and closer until it sounds like it's right above Frisk and MK. The two kids have time to share a look just before -

  
"CHARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA **A!!!!!!"**

  
\- Papyrus plummets down from above and lands with a graceful _Splat!_ on his face between them.

  
The impact throws up a wave of mud and plant bits and trash-scented water. Before they can even wipe their eyes clear, boney arms wrap around Frisk and crush them against Papyrus' armor. 

 

"FRISK HUMAN!!" he howls. His whole body is shaking so hard it makes his bones clatter against the inside of his armor like rocks in a dryer and they can barely understand him. He suddenly pushes them away to hold them out at arms' length, their feet dangling. Their hands immediately come up to scrub at their eyes. "YOU MUSTN'T DESPAIR, FRISK HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL CARE FOR YOU-"

 

 _"Papyrus-"_ Frisk signs.

 

"-IN YOUR SIBLING'S STEAD! AND MY VERY GREAT FRIEND CHARA-"

 

_"Papyrus-"_

 

"-WILL LIVE ON IN YOU, FRISK HUMAN! LITERALLY! WE WILL-"

 

_"Paps-"_

 

"-GATHER THEIR DUST AND-"

 

"YO, PAPYRUS!!" MK hollers, finally getting the upset skeleton's attention. Fat orange tears fall freely from his eyesockets as he looks from them and back to Frisk.

 

 _"Chara is alive,"_ they sign.

 

"OH, THANK THE STARS!!!" Papyrus cries, crushing them against himself again in a relieved hug.

 

"Yeah, that's what I said," MK says.

 

Once the kids manage to quiet Papyrus' wailing and calm him down a little, he sets Frisk on their feet. They look up into the darkess above the dump, where Paps had come from. He must have jumped down from the broken catwalk. 

 

 _"Did you... run here?"_ they ask.

 

MK's jaw drops. "DUDE, you _ran_ all the way here from Snowdin??"

 

"OF COURSE!!" Papyrus spins in place to find the best angle and strikes a pose, flinging the mud and garbage water covering his body in every direction. His scarf gives a soggy flop. "MY ASSISTANCE WAS REQUESTED, SO I MADE THE GREATEST HASTE! NO OTHER KIND OF HASTE WILL DO WHEN THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NEEDED, NYEH HEH HEH!!"

 

 _"Right, but why didn't you take the ferry?"_ Frisk signs. They point at the east wall of the dump, because they know on the other side is where the river comes close to the path. _"The Riverperson stops right over there."_

 

Papyrus' laughter cuts off with a gurgle and he twists his dripping mittens together. "WELL, I... ER... I WAS VERY WORRIED, SO-" 

 

"So you RAN all the way from SNOWDIN?!?" 

 

"...YES."

 

MK stares up at him, awe sparkling in their eyes. "Whoa... Chara was right..." The thought of you suddenly snaps them out of it and they jump. "OMIGOD! We have to find them! Undyne-" Papyrus gasps in horror, as if he'd forgotten for a moment that Undyne is hunting you.

 

Frisk interrupts them both before they can start to freak out. _"Where were they going?"_ they ask MK. _"Did they tell you?"_

 

"Yeah, dude, they said they needed to go back to Snowdin to get you. So I said 'Why don't you take the ferry?' and then they said 'There's a ferry??' and I was like 'No duh?' and then I kinda figured out that you guys are humans and I said... some stuff, and they were like 'Yo, we're still friends, do you wanna come with me?' and I was like 'Yeah, dude!' but then Undyne was all like 'BLUH!' and the bridge was all like 'SNAP!!' and Undyne was like 'Stop interfering, kid, you're committing treason' but I DON'T CARE WHAT SHE SAYS AND-" They finally run out of breath and sit down heavily on what's left of the yellow flowers, gasping.

 

Frisk is silent for a moment while they think.

 

 _"We need to split up,"_ they decide. _"Chara is really, really bad at finding stuff. They're probably lost again. We need to look everywhere -"_ they circle their hands extra wide for emphasis _"- as fast as we can."_ They turn to Papyrus. _"Can you go back to Snowdin and look for them there? That's where they were heading."_

 

Papyrus snaps a sharp salute worthy of a Royal Guardsman. "RIGHT AWAY, HUMAN!" he says, before he suddenly bends at the knees as if he's about to jump straight up.

 

Frisk just barely grabs him in time. _"Take the ferry!"_ they order, pointing their finger in the right direction. _"Ask the Riverperson if they saw Chara!"_

 

"AH! YES! RIGHT!" Papyrus mutters, his cheekbones glowing an embarrassed orange. He takes off at a sprint through the dump water with MK staring after him. 

 

 _"Me and you will check between here and Hotland_ ," Frisk tells them, making their way out of the dump as well. 

 

"Frisk... Was he just going to _jump_ back up to the bridge...?" MK asks, dazed.

 

They wouldn't put it past him, honestly, so they just shrug.

 

"Wow... Papyrus is so COOL!"

 

* * *

 

 

 

The farther you travel into Lower Waterfall, the more sure you are that you've overshot your destination, and yet the less you feel like you want to potentially risk wasting even more time by turning around.

 

At first, you're thrown off by the inky blackness of this section of caves. It's purely by chance that you brush against a clump of knee-high mushrooms, causing them to flare with gentle but vivid blue-white light. To your bewilderment, a narrow pathway of grass lights up with them, guiding your way through the darkness and illuminating two fresh sets of footprints in the mud. When you examine the mushrooms closer, you see tiny glowing filaments fanning out from their roots and along the surface of the ground, where they twine around and up individual blades of grass. Each of them ends in a luminous spore pod the size of the head of a pin. The resulting effect reminds you of strings of fairy lights.

 

It's obvious to you that this was intentionally created by monsters, and you marvel at the beauty and ingenuity, and wonder just how much magic goes into shaping living organisms to function as motion detecting street lamps.

 

And then, in the next room, you find actual lamps. These ones don't stay lit like the mushrooms, and their glow starts to fade away the instant after you tap them. When you peer inside them, you see bitty little flecks of soft purple light that float around each other like insects, but don't seem to have any physical bodies. They swirl faster when you bump their lamps and if you listen closely, you can just barely hear them make the quietest chiming sound, like crystal goblets clinking together on the other side of a vast room. Apparently, they can all hear each other loud and clear, because you just have to touch one and the others all light up in sync.

 

You almost get lost again when you misjudge the direction of a particularly twisty section of path, but just as the light is fading out completely, you spot more footprints and follow them to the next lamp, right in the nick of time. It's only a single set of prints now, and it makes you wonder where the person who made the second set near the mushrooms had gone. You didn't pass anyone that you saw, but you also didn't see any paths branching from the one you're taking.

 

Turning back, at least to see if you missed a turn somewhere, starts to seem like a better and better idea, but the pain in your ribs starts to catch up to you with little jabs and twinges. You figure you'd better just keep going. You're bound to come to something eventually, and you're trying to save the tea Gerson gave you.

 

You're relieved when you make it to another area steadily lit by the glowing crystals you're used to, even though you have to cross the most ridiculously narrow foot bridge you've seen yet, over a short but unfathomably deep chasm. You start to stride as quickly as you can over it, before you can think too much about it and wuss out. But you almost go stumbling over the edge when you hear your name echoing in the distance and your head whips around to find the source.

 

"Chaaaaara..."

 

"Hello?" you shout back once you're on solid ground, holding perfectly still as you listen. At first, there's nothing but scattered drips of water and the nearly subsonic rumble of millions of tons of rock. You begin to think you might have imagined hearing your name, but then it comes again, from up ahead.

 

"Yo! Chaaaaaaaaa-Ra...!"

 

There's only one person that could be. You yell, "MK!?" as you hobble forward.

 

"CHARA?? CHARA!!!" they scream as their footfalls race toward you and they come dashing out of the darkness.

 

MK's face scales are streaked with tear stains and their eyes are bloodshot. They take a running leap at you and you catch them against your good shoulder and hug them to you tightly as they soak your shirt collar with fresh tears. You press your cheek to the side of their head and let them cry it out.

 

"I thought - _hic_ \- I thought you were dead, dude," they choke out between sobs and you rub their back reassuringly.

 

"I thought I was, too. But I just got knocked out for a few minutes."

 

MK takes a few hitching breaths and wipes their face off on your shirt before they pull back to look at you. "Oh man, are you ok??" they ask. "I- I have some monster candy in my room. Crud, I wish I brought it with me..."

 

"I'm... fine, Kid." The pain in your chest gives a decisively vicious stab and you have to fight to keep it from showing in your expression. You are definitely not fine, but you can't let MK know how hurt you really are. The poor kid probably feels guilty enough and it's not even their fault. "I stopped by Gerson's shop and he gave me some Sea Tea," you tell them, showing them the jar you're carrying.

 

They smile, relieved, and you set them on their feet. Now that MK is with you, they can show you where the ferry is and you can get back to trying to find your sibling.

 

"Whoa! Grampa Gerson NEVER gives anybody anything for free. What did you say to him? Can you get him to teach me to fight??" MK rambles about wanting to be trained by Gerson just like all the great Royal Guardsmen, and this is better than them crying and blaming themself for your fall, so you let them chatter on, murmuring the occasional encouraging sound. They suddenly gasp and their head snaps up, hitting the underside of your chin and making you bite your tongue for the hundredth time since you fell into the Underground. "OHMIGOSH, DUDE! I totally forgot! We have to go get Frisk!"

 

You drop your hand away from your mouth, forgetting about the taste of blood that clings to your teeth. The last dregs of the tea are still numbing your tongue anyway. "You saw Frisk? Where are they??"

 

The kid shoves their forehead into your stomach and starts to push you back the way you came. You drop your jar of tea, and it thankfully lands with a squish on the muddy ground and doesn't break. "They're back this way, yo! We split up to look for you. They wanted me to go to Temmie Village but I didn't know where it was so they went instead and I was gonna check Hotland. We gotta go back and find them!"

 

"Woah, Kid, wait." You turn around so they don't shove you backwards onto the skinny bridge and they end up unabashedly headbutting your, well, your butt to keep you moving.

 

You crane your neck around so you can look at them over your shoulder. MK's bare feet slide against the damp boards of the little bridge, and you're terrified they're going to slip and fall. You're able to breathe again when they push you up against a wall and you can brace yourself against it for stability.

 

"How are we supposed to find Frisk if you don't know where Temmie Village is?" you ask.

 

"I don't - _hff_ \- know, but - We gotta - _nnngh hff_ \- find 'em quick! We'll think of - _hff hff_ \- something, just- Why won't you mooooove?!" Their blunt spikes dig into your tailbone as they heave their meager weight against you.

 

While you do agree that you need to find Frisk ASAP, just swanning off without any kind of plan is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place. And, like, at least five other messes today. "If only I hadn't dropped my phone, I could just call them..." you mutter, mostly to yourself. "Hey, Kid, you wouldn't happen to have a cell... phone..."

 

Wait a second.

 

There isn't a wall in the middle of this bridge.

 

Gingerly, without turning your head, you bring your hands up and prod at the object in front of you. The surface is smooth and cold, instead of the damp, mossy rock you would expect. Your fingertip bumps against some kind of latch and you absently flip it open. The more your hands explore, the more your face pulls into a pained wince. Finally, you reach up - WAY up - and feel your way along a hinged jaw and a set of serrated metal teeth.

 

A low growl rumbles next to your ear and you slowly turn your head forward.

 

"Hhhhh... Hey, Undyne..." you say, locking eyes with your reflection in her armor.

 

 **"H u m a n,"** she thunders, and ah, shit, it's the Scary Voice. You remember what happened the last time somebody said your name in the Scary Voice.

 

"Now, Undyne," you begin, trying to sound as reasonable as you can, but she cuts you off with a snarl.

 

MK's weight disappears from your back and you stumble a step, thankfully managing not to tread on their feet. "Go AWAY, Undyne!" they shout at her. "Why won't you just leave Chara-"

 

"ENOUGH!" Undyne roars, a neon spear materializing in her hands with a crack like lightning. "I'll deal with YOU later, punk. After I'm done stomping this loser into the dirt!"

 

She wastes no time and brings her spear up in a rising arc; you throw your hands in front of your body defensively, forgetting that her first strike won't hurt. You expect the pulling-your-foot-out-of-mud-but-inside-your-organs feeling of your Soul being pulled out, but it doesn't come. When you open your eyes, you see the weapon has halted in midair nowhere near your squishy torso. Undyne grunts out a minced curse and tries again, but one of the shoulder pieces of her armor - the one you accidentally unlatched - doesn't move the way it's supposed to. It clashes against her chestplate and her arm is caught in the bind.

 

"Why, you sneaky little-" she says. "You messed up my armor!" She changes tactics like a pro; her spear vanishes and she makes a grab for you with her free hand instead.

 

"Stop it, Undyne!" MK yells. They suddenly dive past your legs at the same time you try to duck Undyne's lunge.

 

You try to step but your balance is all fouled up and the angle is impossible to judge. Your foot finds nothing but empty air. And then you're falling.

 

Vertigo hits; cold fear races down your spine as your stomach jumps into the back of your throat. MK cries out in terror.

 

In one of those rare moments where time seems to slow, the ones where you think back on it later and are unable to figure out how you reacted so spontaneously, your reflexes spring into action to save you. You twist your body, flail your good arm, and miraculously, your hand meets the face of the stone pillar under the bridge and catches hold of a tiny outcropping. Your lower body slams into the rock, sending a lance of pain through your swollen knee, and your boots scramble for purchase.

 

Trembling, gasping shallowly against the fresh agony ripping through your midsection, you cling to the pillar and look up. MK's wide eyes glimmer against the darkness. Undyne's bulk looms over their shoulder, her face still hidden behind the jagged teeth of her helmet.

 

"Woo!" you hear yourself say. "That was a close one!" Your voice sounds nowhere near as afraid and helpless as you feel. There's no way you're going to be able to climb up. You experimentally try to find a grip with the hand on your injured side, but even moving it fractionally away from your ribs is almost enough to make you vomit. 

 

"Chara, hang on!! Ohmigod, dude, what are we gonna DO?!" MK sobs.

 

Undyne leans forward slightly, a little, halted movement that you think might have been her getting ready to say something, but she stays quiet. You're sure that she knows as well as you that there's nothing that can be done. You're good and cornered and the only way you're going is down. But she must think better than to say so in front of the kid, at least.

 

"MK, listen. I've got a plan," you tell them firmly. "I need you to find Frisk. In the backpack they've got is some rope. If they tie that to the bridge up there, I can climb it back up. Ok?"

 

The tears in their eyes wobble and begin to spill over. "I- I can't just leave you here..."

 

You shake your head and hold on to the pillar as hard as your fingers can grip so they don't see how much effort it takes not to slip. "You're not leaving me, buddy. You're going and getting help, and then you're gonna come right back, alright? I'll be fine; I've got a good hold here. I'm not going anywhere. But you gotta go, quick. Ok, Kid? You gotta hurry!"

 

They hesitate and for a second, you think they can tell you're lying, but they reluctantly start to shuffle across the bridge. At the end, they pause, gazing miserably back at you.

 

"Run, quick, go!" you call after them, and they nod, turning and charging, spikes first, into the dark.

  
Once they're out of sight, you drop the pretense and turn a sharp glare on the hulking shape of Undyne. Your hand is starting to cramp from holding your weight with your fingertips and you're sweating, which doesn't help.

 

"So I assume this is some kind of bottomless pit of doom or something. After I fall, are you gonna be able to fish my Soul back up, or what?"

 

"...Was that a _pun?_ " she demands, and oh, yeah, you guess it was. _Fish_ ing your Soul up. And Undyne's a fish. "You've been spending too much time around that sweaty nerd, Sans, haven't you?"

 

"Look Undyne, I could sit here and listen to you call Sans names all day, but I don't really have the time right now. After I'm dead, are you gonna be able to get my Soul for the King or not?"

 

After a moment, she shifts her weight uneasily and admits, "I dunno. A weakling like you, your Soul might not stay together long enough for me get it."

 

"Dammit!" You knock your forehead against the stone in front of you. It doesn't do your precarious hold any favors, but it's the only way you can take your frustration out on something from where you are. "'I dunno' isn't gonna cut it, Undyne! It's gotta be my Soul you take. Just mine."

 

She snorts derisively. "What the hell are you talking about, human?" 

 

"The only Soul you're getting is mine," you tell her, your voice rising. "My sibling is off limits to you, do you understand me? I don't give a fuck if I have to tear this world a new asshole from the Afterlife, I won't allow you to hurt Frisk!"

 

A flood of Determination burns through your veins, along with that icy rage that threatens to bury your rational thoughts like an avalanche. You clutch at the hot fury and pull it around yourself like a blanket, shielding yourself from the deadening cold and pushing it back. Now is not the time to let mindless violence take you over.

 

"Well, I could just kill you right now," Undyne suggests, a spear appearing in her hands. "Won't be hard now that you sent your meat shield away. That was a pretty stupid move."

 

Your head rears back in indignation. "Uh, excuse you, that's a _child_ you're talking about, bitch!" you snap. "If you think MK has ever been anything but an innocent bystander in all of this, you can just fuck entirely off right now. They should _never_ have been caught between the two of us, and they _damn sure_ shouldn't have to watch somebody die before they're out of striped shirts. I'd rather die alone than let that happen. I sent them away on purpose."

 

She's quiet for a beat. "So, what, you're just giving up? You're not even gonna beg for your life, chump?"

 

You scoff. "No, I'm not, and fuck you very much for asking. Y'know, I'd flip you off if I had a free hand. For somebody who's supposedly such a "true hero," you sure are acting like a shitty anime villain right n-"

 

Whatever grip your toes had on the stone suddenly slips, cutting your words off with a scream. Your cramped, shaking, sweaty fingers have no prayer of holding you on their own and you drop like an anchor toward the consuming darkness of the pit.

 

You get about .5 seconds to realize that you never got to say anthing to Frisk to help them cope with losing you, before a hand clamps around your wrist like a steel band. Undyne hauls you back up until you're face-to-helmet with her. 

 

"Oh no you don't, punk. You're not getting out of this _that_ easy," she tells you.

 

You chuckle breathlessly, your ribcage screaming. Looks like MK was right; Undyne _is_ crazy strong. She's just dangling you over this pit with one hand like it's nothing.

 

"Ha... ha. So you want a- a fair fight, after all, huh?" you pant. "M-maybe Gerson shouldn't yell at you... for using cheap tricks to win fights, then."

 

"Fuck, would you just SHUT? UP?" she asks and you giggle a littly deliriously because you finally got a proper swear word out of her.

 

She turns and marches off the bridge and onto solid ground, practically flinging you down into the mud. You cough shallowly and gradually catch your breath. Undyne waits, tapping one sabaton imptiently, until you climb unsteadily to your feet.

 

"Alright," she says, summoning a spear. It's all the signal you get before she slashes through your chest yet again and your Soul appears.

 

You almost think you see a dark smudge on it before it turns green.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the first scene of this chapter happens at pretty much the exact same time as chara is in gerson's shop. they narrowly miss each other because the kids dont think to check the little side areas like the shop and blooky's farm

**Author's Note:**

> You can message me on my tumblr, hoofbeast.tumblr.com, if you have questions or suggestions or w/e.  
> I will also post there whenever I add new chapters, and keep an estimated date for each new chapter.
> 
> Update: I made a dedicated side blog for this fic, deadringerofficial.tumblr.com. Ask or submit anything related to this fic there. ✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:* \\(◕ω◕✿)/ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧


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